Child of Mercy
by Fayr Warning
Summary: AU: Life had Harry been able to control accidental magic. Warning: Dursleys will be terrorized.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Rowling and her publishers and/or associates. I make no claim on her intellectual property.

**Child of Mercy**

Not all children are innocent.

Not all children learn to laugh before they cry.

Not all children know trust.

Not all children can forgive.

Not all children can forget…

…and sometimes those children do more than remember.

**S**

Privet Drive was a lovely place to raise children. Or at least that's what the real estate agent told Vernon Dursley the first time they stepped into the driveway at Number Four Privet Drive.

Vernon could already imagine it. A nice strong boy-child that would look just like him and maybe have Petunia's eyes. Maybe they'd even have another boy. One child to take after him and another for the Queen's service.

Petunia Evans (soon to be Dursley) on the other hand peered out of various windows in the empty house looking for the best vantage point to spy on her neighbors. Immediately she knew Number Six had a little boy whose mother wore pearls to prepare lunch. On the other hand Number Two had a woman that rose from bed at noon and wore a nightgown made of silk. She could already see a life in which the woman from Number Six would come over and they would gossip about the woman in Number Two.

"We'll take it." Vernon announced imperiously even as he compared the neighbors car to his own. Behind him Petunia nodded enthusiastically, her sharp eyes immediately finding fault in the neighbor's rose bushes.

Vernon moved in first along with furniture from the house he shared with his sister Marge Dursley. Within weeks Privet Drive was treated with the sight of Mrs. Dursley being carried (huffily and puffily) over the threshold.

Eventually Vernon bought a car on par with his neighbors and would talk about drills to anyone that dutifully brought a fruitcake to greet the newest neighbors. Petunia made great friends with Mrs. Emmett in Number Six and as planned the two spent countless hours sipping tea as they looked in on the disgraceful life of Mrs. Whitby in Number Two.

In due time Vernon and Petunia welcomed the newest addition to the Dursley family, Little Dudley. The baby had soft pink cheeks and a full head of golden curls. Marge declared him the spitting image of Grandfather Dursley, God rest his soul.

Petunia dedicated herself to being the model housewife, let no one ever doubt her ability to take care of her family. When Duddikins was nearly a year old the family celebrated Vernon's promotion by buying a new car. Life was finally perfect for Petunia and she began to forget the…freakiness her sister had fallen into.

But not even Petunia could escape the reach of one madman and the world he nearly made his own. So it was with that marked misfortune that she opened the door on November First and the wicked world of witchcraft reached for her once more in the guise of an emerald-eyed infant left on her doorstep. Her shrieks brought Vernon thundering toward the door and the two quickly hid the child from the neighbors. Helplessly they stared at each other and the child at intervals, Vernon growing decidedly redder while Petunia turned a delicate shade of green.

"I'll not have…" sputtered Vernon.

"We must! We must!" Petunia wailed helplessly.

"That freakiness in our house! Living next to our son! Not normal…" huffed Vernon, his neck turning a shade of purple that was truly eye catching.

"That man! Who does he think he is? We've nothing to do with _that_ freakiness and they expect us to take care of their mess?" She raged toward the heavens, God knows a good wife never shouts at her husband.

"Plain unnatural!" Grumbled Vernon, his fat sausage-arms making wild gestures.

"What will the neighbors say!…Vernon, dear…do you think _they_ are watching?" asked a pasty faced Petunia.

Vernon quickly paled before flushing a violent shade of red. "They had better not. I've a good mind to call the Bobbies on those freaks."

"Oh we can't! We mustn't!" whimpered Petunia. "_She _told me they have people watching, _they_ can make you forget if _they_ want to. _They_ can make sure you don't talk about what _they_ don't want."

"They wouldn't dare!" puffed Vernon although there was a distinct uncertainty in his voice. "Really! Expecting good, honest, normal folk to deal with _their_ messes."

Quietly staring up at them as normal as any child was Lily's son, Harry Potter. But both knew that is were the normalcy ended. The boy was part of that freakiness; no doubt he would have the same unnaturalness his parents did. Even his name, common and coarse, was distasteful to the Dursley's refined palate. Lily Evans didn't even have the mind to name the boy something as dignified as Dudley. And now they were stuck with the boy and had no choice but to house the unnaturalness, heaven forbid they ever willingly welcome it.

They would persevere and they would be good parents and make sure Little Dudley wasn't contaminated by it. Despite the awful position the freaks put them in they would to the right thing and house the waif till the system could swallow him up. Till then they would just have to make sure the boy never got the silly idea he was better than them simply because he could do…strange things.

**S**

Harry James Potter was a smart boy. He understood that the woman that held him and smelled nice and warm was gone. He understood that the man with the twinkling eyes that used to throw him in the air was gone. He understood that the other man with the barking laugh was gone. He understood that the quiet man that would read him unintelligible words (at least to an infant) was gone. He even understood that the squeaky man that whimpered when Harry wailed was gone.

He understood it but it didn't mean he had to like it.

He didn't have to like the woman with the cold fingers and sharp nails. He didn't have to like the man with the perpetual scowl. He especially didn't have to like the boy that waddled, fidgeted, fussed, and kicked.

Despite his apparent intelligence there were still some things he didn't understand. He didn't understand why he wasn't allowed to touch all the colorful toys. He didn't understand why he slept in a small cot at the foot of Dudley's crib. He didn't understand why Dudley would sometimes eat the portion of food meant for him and his stomach would growl pitifully. He didn't understand why the scarecrow-woman would smile at the other boy for the simplest act of destruction while he would be smacked for even thinking of damaging anything. He didn't understand why the Sausage-man didn't like touching him (which truth be told was something he didn't mind at all). He didn't understand why his nappies slipped off more times than naught. He especially didn't understand why Dudley couldn't 'make' the toys come to him when he woke restless in the night.

But if anything Harry was a smart boy. Setting childlike features into a serious expression a nearly two years old Harry promised himself that he would understand.

His perseverance had always been one of his greatest qualities.

**S**

When Harry was two he didn't understand why he was locked in the nursery the day all the bright packages from under the tree were opened. He didn't understand why he had to dab his scraped knee with toilet paper when not even a few feet away the scarecrow woman was piling Dudley with enough bandages to wrap a mummy.

When Harry was three he didn't understand why Dudley got thirty gifts and Petunia made him promise never to touch them, glaring all the mean while. Harry didn't understand why Harry had to clean the shared nursery all the mean while avoiding the flying toys courtesy of Dudley.

When Harry was four he didn't understand why he had to water the scarecrow-woman's prized flowers in the dead of a summer day while Dudley lounged under the fan. He didn't understand why the sausage-man would turn a funny color each time Harry wandered near him.

When Harry was five he didn't understand why his clothes were drabber and rougher than the bright clothes Dudley wore. He didn't understand many things and hadn't succeeded reversing that fact. But when Harry was five he started primary school and he had begun to understand.

He understood birthdays first. His was on July 31, 1980; Ms. Fanner said so. He learned about Christmas. Most importantly he learned about Mothers and Fathers. He even learned about Grandparents from the girl that sat two seats in front of Harry. He learned about naps and crayons and a whole slew of things.

He learned that he was different.

He'd noticed how the big-people had power over those his size. Petunia and Vernon had control over him based on that relationship. And honestly he didn't have the power to change that; it wasn't like he could do much. He still had trouble tying his shoes. But then came the power to make what he wanted. A power none of the grownups seemed to possess. A power that even as a child Harry knew frightened his guardians.

The first time Dudley beat Harry up he was more stunned than hurt. Sure Vernon and Petunia would sent smacks his way but they always gave him the feeling they didn't have the time to give him the trashing he 'deserved'.

Harry was a smart boy. School taught him many things. How other children were treated and loved. Most crucially he learned the power of fear. Dudley made all the other children too afraid to play with him. Fear was a powerful motivator.

Ironic then, that Dudley would teach him a lesson the Dursleys would rue for years.

**S**

"Boy! Sweep that mess you've tracked in!" was Petunia's shrill greeting the moment Harry entered the house. A push from behind slammed him into the doorframe as Dudley's thundering footsteps retreated toward the telly.

_Divide and conquer._

Taking in a deep breath Harry prepared himself for the most nerve-racking experience he'd ever taken on. In the kitchen Petunia hovered over the sink as she cut roses to size.

"Have you done your chores yet?' She snapped more out of habit than any true annoyance.

Little Harry calmly ignored her. Dragging a stool he propped it against the counters. With hands guided by practice Harry pulled down a glass cup and filled it with water. Just as he was sitting down at the kitchen table Petunia craned her long neck toward him.

"And what to you think you're doing?" her mouth spat.

"Petunia." Harry said emotionlessly.

Displeased she turned to face him fully only to meet flat emerald eyes.

"Sit down Petunia."

Unnerved she clutched her rose cutter. "What…"

"Sit down _Aunt_ Petunia." His voice was as flat as his eyes that disturbed Petunia more than she would like. Whatever was in front of her wasn't a child. Her legs folded beneath her and her body slit alongside the counter. She tried scrambling back but much to her horror her legs did not obey.

Panicked she turned to the un-child. "What have you done?"

Harry gave her an expressionless look. "Only what I will."

"You mustn't!" she wailed before she could stop herself. "It's unnatural!"

A growing smirk on the un-child scared her more than she wanted to admit. "Then you know what is happening?"

"Oh no! Not again! My sister and her tricks…" She trailed off under the intense look from the boy.

"Do go on dear Aunt. It was most informative."

Petunia shook her head wildly. A small child's hand fell on the table between them, the pale digits ghosting over the full cup of water.

"I have power." The cup rapidly chilled as the water was being miraculously frozen.

"You do not." The water unfroze, faint steam disappearing into the air. "You do not like me."

"For the time being I must tolerate you." The glass shattered, clear liquid soaking into the tablecloth. "But there is only so much I will allow."

Another small hand flew over the table; the water evaporating till only glass shards remained. "Keep _your_ family in line Petunia. I've little love or mercy to give any of you."

Silently the un-child stood up and left through the outside door. Glacier eyes scanned her once before the boy disappeared into the yard.

Alone now, Petunia hugged trembling limbs. Not for the first time she cursed her abnormal sister but this time she included the devil of a boy.

Outside Harry bit his knuckle harshly to stifle a laugh or a cry, not knowing which would emerge. Abnormally slow he crept into his Secret Place, the tiny hole behind the shed and in front of the neighbors wall conveniently hidden by a towering bush. Folding his knees beneath him Harry promptly passed out.

**S**

Petunia honestly tried to shield her family from Harry. For a few weeks she even managed to frantically placate Harry and keep her family from going after him. The first sign she had failed came a month after their fateful meeting.

Her little Dudley and the boy arrived from school at the usual time. She'd been watering her prized roses when she saw Harry dutifully walking home, behind him Dudley and his charming friends followed. One of Dudley's friends moved to catch Harry but at the last moment Dudley caught the boy, Piers Polkins if she remembered correctly. It struck her odd at the time but what froze her very heart was the look her son gave Harry. It was a look full of wariness and fear. As if feeling her eyes on him Dudley turned his own to meet hers. They only looked at each other for a second but in that second she read his silent plea and helplessness. Much to her shame Petunia turned away from her son, knowing there was nothing she could do to protect him. She ignored Dudley's defeated countenance as he entered the house. She even managed to ignore the boy's knowing glance and growing smirk. She couldn't do anything but ignore it or she might very well scream at the un-child like a madwoman. The boy might have invaded their lives with his freakiness but at least she was normal.

Vernon would be the hardest to threaten into compliance. Petunia knew that. Harry knew that. She never asked what happened and truthfully she preferred it that way.

It was the weekend after Petunia and Dudley's trip to visit Marge. Petunia had ceremonially invited the boy along and was pathetically grateful when he declined. Catching the boy shooting Vernon contemplative looks drove her from the house almost as fast as if someone had shouted fire. Vernon himself wouldn't understand the helpless look Petunia gave him as they parted till later.

They returned to a changed household.

The boy had growing purple marks on his cheek and shoulders while Vernon sported burnt hands. He claimed it was an accident with the stove. She knew better. Not for the first time she silently cursed her husband's penchant for physical violence. His flushed face and nervous eyes would become the norm when dealing with the un-child.

And so the last of her family fell to his whims and heaven preserve them if they crossed the un-child. He had no mercy, having never been taught to love them She feared the day _they_ would come for him. If he truly was a fledging what would he be like after they trained him in _their_ ways? Lily had certainly never expressed her abnormality early on. She could only protect her family as best she could till then.

**S**

When Harry was six he moved from the cupboard under the stairs and into Dudley's second bedroom. He had been living in the cupboard since he was three and old enough to take care of himself. Discreetly he learned that most of his classmates didn't live in cupboards and either had their own room or shared with family. Harry didn't fancy sharing a room with Dudley so instead he announced to the Dursleys he would be taking the spare bedroom. It only took one flat glance he was becoming famous for to stifle any objection. He only had to 'make' several toys into pancakes to make Dudley abandon his last minute protest. Vernon and Petunia merely averted their eyes and pretended it never happened. It was fast becoming the way the elder Dursleys dealt with their nephew.

Harry wasn't interested in actively tormenting them no matter what they thought. He merely wasn't going to allow them liberties in abusing his mental and physical well being.

Without his guardians there to repress him Harry was finally free to develop and act like a normal child. But even then he wasn't normal. Without the constant pressure of never being smarter than Dudley he was able to explore the limits of his intelligence. The teachers called him a prodigy and would gush his success to nervous Dursleys. Harry merely accepted it all with his trademark practicality. He didn't particularly like teachers to begin with. They had obviously seen the neglect the Dursleys had inflicted upon him and in all likelihood they would never had interfered had he never taken an initiative.

It wasn't long before the school wanted to place him in advanced classes. The Dursleys were seemingly adamant it be Harry's choice. While others might have commented on their freethinking Harry knew it was because they didn't dare interfere with his choices. In the end he opted to move on to advanced classes more out of the desire to leave Dudley and his friends behind than any real wish to learn. While Harry was obviously smart his wits were above all dedicated to survival. Dudley might be too scared to go after him but he had no problem allowing his dolts of friends the privilege. Harry had the power to hurt them but even then he knew not to flaunt his talents. Perhaps the Dudley's early lectures about his abnormality had stuck and he knew better to make strange things happen in front of others.

**S**

Harry twirled his pencil as he tuned out Mr. Carrington's lecture on geometry. Thankfully Mr. Carrington was resigned to Harry's inattentiveness enough not call him on it. At nine years Harry was almost the youngest in the class (mousy Joan Reynolds beating him by six months). All the teachers were careful not to reprimand the students and unintentionly 'stifle' them. In Harry's opinion that was a load of shit; there were some truly bratty kids at Fairfax Park Academy.

The Academy really wasn't all that bad. Centered in London the school catered to the prodigies born and bred. Classes were designed so students could move on ahead at their own pace. The majority of students came from wealthy families and were chaffered to the school itself. Harry was a scholarship student having opted to attend mainly so he could get away from the Dursleys. He spent the week in the schools dorm and was shipped back to Surry for the weekend.

He'd been a student for nearly a year and in all that time he hadn't made any friends. Honestly Harry was personally unnerved by the prodigies. They belonged to one of three categories: the "know-it-alls", the bookworms, and the brats. The "know-it-alls" couldn't help but sprout every inane fact in some twisted urge to fit in. The bookworms had a strange intensity about them that was frankly otherworldly. Finally the brats were too hung up on being prodigies to leave anyone ignorant of the fact. Harry hoped he didn't fall into any of those categories.

Most of the days Harry burrowed in a library alcove, a computer terminal being incredibly helpful in passing the time. Who in their right minds wanted to spend it studying geometry?

"Excuse me? Would you happen to be Harry Potter?" a nervous sounding boy said from behind Harry. Terminating his connection Harry turned to face the boy. No one really needed to see his attempts at hacking.

The boy was stuffily dressed in the school uniform, a gray blazer buttoned down to last shinny black button and dress pants that still had the ironed creases. In comparison Harry's rolled up sleeves and abandoned tie didn't say very much toward school spirit.

"I'm Harry."

The boy gave an embarrassingly relived smile. "Thank God; I've already asked three other people and one of them send me on a wild chase while the other two didn't have the faintest idea where you—"

"You were looking for me because…?" Harry interrupted. The boy obviously belonged to a wealthy family and so far Harry had seen few of them resist the urge to rib the scholarship students. It was always best to be on the defensive and keep interaction to a minimum.

"Sorry." The boy blushed. "It's my first day here and I'm a little excited. My brother came here you see and he only had brilliant things to say about the school. My father was also an alumni and I guess I've been waiting—"

Harry resisted the urge to sigh.

"…Ah sorry again. I guess I should introduce myself first, shouldn't I? I'm Edward Geoffrey Caldwell the Third. I've been tutored at home and I finally passed the entrance exams last June. My family is from Manchester but I live in our London home with my Aunt Cecile. The Headmistress told me we had the same schedule and you could show me around."

He really didn't want to scowl. The blasted Headmistress was on some mission to get Harry to socialize. He only prayed she got over that little stint before too long. What could she have possibly thought Caldwell and Harry had in common? He was an orphan of no real family lineage and on a scholarship combined with a distinct anti-social attitude.

"There really isn't much to see. If you managed to find me chances are you already saw half the school."

"Oh…well I hope we can become friends." The boy said cheerfully.

"Sure, whatever… Don't you know anyone here? From what I understand families with money flock together."

The boy blushed lightly. "I never got out much."

"Huh." Expert fingers fixed his tie while he did a strange dance trying to simultaneously get into his blazer. "We'd better be getting to class then."

"So where are you from?"

"Surrey."

"I don't think I know where that is."

"Not far."

"Eh then…do you live in the dorms or in the city?"

"Dorms."

"I bet you miss your family. I can hardly believe I won't see my mum and father till winter hols."

"Not really. My parents are dead and my aunt prefers a long-distance relationship."

"Eh…" The hapless boy stuttered. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Hey! Reynolds!" Harry called out. Mousy Joan Reynolds squeaked her surprise.

"Y-Yes?" The pig-tailed girl said.

"This is Edward Caldwell—"

"—The Third."

"Whatever. He has the same classes we do. Do me a favor Reynolds and show him around."

The girl was simply too nice to refuse. "S-Sure Po-Potter."

Harry promptly abandoned the pair, rolling his eyes as he took his seat. Reynolds had a mouth like a steel-trap and Caldwell couldn't shut up. The beginning of a beautiful friendship.

**S**

"Hey Potter!"

Harry calmly turned to face his newest bother. Twice in one day, it certainly was a record. The Headmistress must be working overtime. It was one of the older boys in his class, ten-year old Malcolm Wallis, son of one of the 'Families'.

Warily he waited for Wallis to catch up to him. He'd little to fear from the boy himself but Harry was too accustomed to having his guard up to greet him any other way.

"I'm Malcolm Wallis." He introduced himself. Harry vaguely recalled he'd never actually talked to the boy face-to-face.

Harry gave him an uninterested glance. "I know."

Wallis merely shrugged at Harry's curtness. "It was brilliant how you played Caldwell and Reynolds. I don't think we've ever had a chance to get to know each other. You live at the dorms, right? My parents decided to get me a room there this year. I used to go to our house in London and spend my time with the maid. My mum finally decided it would be best I stay at the dorm. So what floor are you in?"

The dorm was a brick-faced four-story building, the top three floors were sectioned off into private rooms since the bottom floor was a recreational area and also held guest and staff quarters.

"Fourth floor, room 4E."

"Brilliant. I moved into 4B. I guess you haven't had a chance to get together with the other boys on the floor."

Harry shrugged. "I never really bothered."

Wallis combed fine blond hair of his eyes, hazel eyes peering at him from the corner of his eye. "I heard about you, you know. Scholarship students are generally smarter than all the blokes that stuff money down the School Board's throat. But you don't really care, do you? You just do enough so they can't kick you out."

"Any chance you're related to the Headmistress?"

"No." Wallis smirked. "Although my father has tea with her every once in a while."

"Figures." The black-haired boy muttered.

"Oi! I was just curious as to why you really are here. You don't seem at all interested in advancing."

"I've kept to myself since I got here, you know." Was Harry's response. Silently he turned into the dorm building and disappeared up the stairs.

Malcolm Wallis was left with a raised eyebrow at the retreating boy's back. He was certainly something else. Malcolm was a smart boy; he had to be to attend the Academy. He'd heard incredibly conflicting stories surrounding the Potter boy ever since he began asking about him.

So far he knew Potter had been attending for something over a year. He was from some small urban province called Sulry or Suery. Unlike other scholarship students his family never showed up at the school, wishing to rub elbows with the elite. Most weekends he went home; Ms. Riley from Administrations drove him there on her way to her mothers. Supposedly his family was sickly or something like that. Ms. Riley described them as being incredibly nervous and fidgety. Potter himself was a brilliant kid, he just didn't seem to care about his studies. Most students at the Academy knew enough about the boy to fill one sentence. Reportedly he spends his time either at the library or in his room. He had plenty of time to figure the boy out.

**S**

" 'lo Malcolm, we waited for you at the gate but you never showed up." Greeted William Graham, Malcolm's first friend at the Academy.

"I walked with Potter."

Will quirked an eyebrow. "That kid? Bloody strange is what he is. He doesn't even like talking to the other scholarship students, completely blew that Boots fellow off."

"I just think he's interesting." Malcolm defended.

"Might be interesting but it still doesn't stop him from being mighty odd."

"Like you're a standard of normalcy."

**S**

"Afternoon Potter." Malcolm greeted him as he sat in Harry's alcove. Harry's eyes flickered to the boy even as his fingers rapidly scrolled down a web page.

"Wallis."

"How come you never have lunch at the Hall?" The boy asked as he paged through a biology book Harry had near him.

"Not hungry."

Malcolm gave him an incredulous look. "You can't convince me you're not hungry. We're growing boys, it's practically our job to eat."

"My relatives got me into the habit of not eating lunch." Was Harry's absentminded response.

"Your what…?"

"You know those fellows legally related to me." Drawled the black-haired boy.

"Why do you call them that?"

"You know, you're awful chatty. Why don't you go find that Caldwell boy."

"Him…" grimaced Malcolm. "Did you know Joan Reynolds is my cousin? She sits at my table and has Edward the Third there most of the time. Awful annoying bloke."

"I figured as much."

"Gee…thanks."

Harry shrugged. He didn't really have anything against Wallis but his knowledge of friendship wasn't that extensive. He'd just avoided the issue. He'd never really met anyone as persistent as Wallis. They had either been scared away by Dudley or put off by his standoffish attitude.

"Tell you what, why don't you come and join me and my mates in the Hall? If you don't I'll bother you for the rest of lunch."

Harry leveled an annoyed glace at the boy. He couldn't hack into records with a witness around. He gave his computer one last pensive look before closing the window. He'd been after his parent's death certificates for a while with no luck. They could have died on another world for all the records knew.

"Fine." Harry grumbled.

"No need to be so cheery about it mate."

Harry merely rolled his eyes.

The Dining Hall was a large room with scattered tables lined up in three rows. Lunch was light but hearty as was due the children of some of Britain's wealthiest families.

"This is William Graham better known as Will. You remember Edward Caldwell affectionly nicknamed Edward the Third. My cousin Joan Reynolds and last but not least Henry Rosethorn. Everybody this is Harry Potter who has graciously decided to join us for lunch."

"I don't remember anything gracious about my decision. You didn't give me much of a choice." Harry said plainly as he peered into various dishes. A childhood under Petunia's care hadn't exactly left him with a healthy appetite.

The table broke into laughter at his response. "What?" he questioned startled.

Malcolm merely shook his head. "You're a strange kid."

Harry glanced at him once before shrugging. Couldn't exactly argue with that. "One man's eccentricities are another man's genius."

"You're insane." Teased Malcolm.

"Sanity is a matte of opinion." Harry calmly intoned, his voice curiously flat.

"That voice…now that's strange." Piped Edward the Third.

"I know." Smirked the green-eyed boy. "Freaks out my relatives. Leaves them cationic for hours."

"It's a time warp to Children of the Corn."

"Is all you're going to eat?" Will asked.

Harry frowned at his plate, several pieces of fruit had been obliterated into mush and he'd barely eaten much of anything. "Wasn't all that hungry." He muttered uncomfortably, starring resolutely at his plate. He wasn't very used to someone else's concern. He'd been on his own since he could walk. Because his head was bowed he missed the worried looks his new friends shared.

Needless to say he would rarely ever be able to hole up in the library during lunch from now on.

**S**

There are certain things that must be taken as logical. Some leaps of faith can't just be taken.

If James Potter was a 'no good drunk that got himself killed in a car accident' the assumption that he owned a car was implied. So why wasn't there any car registered to the man in the year of his death or in the four years before that? Why was there no record of the man ever getting a license? If James Potter died in the autumn of 1981 why was there no death certificate anywhere? Better yet, why wasn't there any birth certificate? If Harry was born out of wedlock he seriously doubted the Dursleys would have kept the fact from him. They never would have gone into the trouble of creating a fictional character to take the place of his father.

At least his mother's background check yielded more tangible results. Hacking into a couple records and putting a few well-placed phone calls gave him what information the Queen had on her. Lily Camille Evans born March 13, 1958 to Howard Thomas Evans and Rosemary Sullivan Evans. She'd been a native of Surry as well but had lived in the opposite site of town near the more affluent families. Howard and Rosemary Evans were listed as both having died in July1979 in a gas explosion. Lily's school and medical records were all in order up until she was eleven. After that there was no mention of what secondary school she attended although Petunia's own files were consisted all through her schooling and marriage. Why would there be such a discrepancy for one daughter and not the other? By chance Harry stumbled on hospital records belonging to a London hospital that indicated Lily Potter went in for a pregnancy exam in early 1980.

It was more than suspicious at that point. What odd business could his parents have been involved in? And what idiot was in charge of fabricating records? No records were more alarming than shoddy records. Petunia had once said Harry took after his mother and her tricks. Could his talents have something to do with why his mother virtually disappeared after age eleven? Or why for all purposes James Potter didn't exist?

There was always the possibility that his parents weren't even British citizens but what fool would have ferried Harry from whatever country they'd died in only to abandon him on a doorstep. His scar was proof he'd been there the night they'd died and Petunia had never made it a secret of what state she found him in.

It was all bloody suspicious.

**S**

"I don't eat lunch."

"—My aunt's a scarecrow—"

"I've a cousin. We didn't get along but he can be taught to curb his aggression—"

"—They died when I was young—"

"—orphan—"

"—We don't like each other—"

"So you're going to Eton soon?"

"—I took the Entrance Exams last month—"

"—I might miss you when you leave."

"—Boots said he wasn't going to Eton. Got invited to some school up in Scotland. Real private. We always lose a couple up there."

"Some exclusive school, the don't-call-us-we'll-call-you kind of school—"

**S**

When Harry was ten-going-on-eleven William and Malcolm decided to have the wildest year yet. Both would be going to Eton College in the fall. Edward the Third and Joan would still stick around but without the two elder boys constant nagging Harry feared he might drift away from the other two. The youngest members of their little group were definitely more stuck on each other than they'd ever been to Harry and the other two boys.

Will and Malcolm spearheaded the largest barrage of pranks Fairfax Academy had ever seen and more often than not and despite not being much of a prankster Harry was dragged along.

The school term ended with most of the teachers' shoes glued to the floor and the crown of their heads secretly sprayed a brilliant orange. Scurrying through the school vents was definitely not Harry's finest moment and the fine layer of dust he accumulated was far from pleasant. Still it was a wonderful farewell for Malcolm and William and though he didn't know it at the time for him also.

**S**

Summer in Surry was lazy and listless. Both Vernon and Petunia avoided talking to him directly and Dudley watched him warily from the corner of his eye. Harry spent most days wandering around the town or at the local library.

"Err...boy…err Potter. We're going to the zoo for Dudley's birthday. Err…will you be going with us?" Vernon practically ground out. His face alternated between a sickly yellow and ripe plum. Vernon was a proud man, he worked hard for his family, loved his beautifully thin wife, and adored his son. He was a good neighbor and gave to charity every year. What had he ever done to deserve the boy? It only took one flat emerald stare for his thoughts to scurry into whatever corner they crawled out from.

"I'll go."

"Err…good then. Dudley's friend will be coming along as well." Vernon bobbed his head nervously.

Harry waited till he was out of his sight before snickering softly. More than five years since the day Harry frightened them into submission and they still were scared stiff of Harry.

Piers Polkins had not changed since the day he used to chase Harry in the playground. He was still a few crumbs short of a cookie and had the bulk to prove where he stored the cookie. Polkins had a sunken face that made even Dudley look handsome. Much to their relief Harry promptly abandoned them at the zoo. Of course he wanted to see the animals, he just preferred to do it away from their domesticated look-alikes otherwise known as the Dursleys. The day was rather pleasant except for when he went through the reptile exhibit and some bratty kids thought it a good idea to whisper silly things from behind corners. He never did find where those kids were hiding at. He'd searched but found nothing but coiled serpents watching him with interest.

**S**

July 13th was marked by a wad of cash Vernon hastily shoved toward Harry at the breakfest table.

"…birthday…" mumbled Vernon as he quickly turned back to his breakfest. Harry might not rake the forty odd present but let it never be said Harry would let his relatives pass his birthday without a thought. It didn't even concern him that they couldn't remember the exact date.

"Mails here." Petunia said, her long neck craning near the window to show of her new necklace to any peering neighbors. "Be a dear and get it Dudley."

"Make Harry get it." Dudley said from around a piece of sausage.

Petunia cleared her throat nervously. "Go get it Harry."

"Go Dudley." Harry said only loudly enough for the boy in question to hear him. About to argue Harry directed his talents to freeze the remaining sausages on Dudley's plate. Nearly squeaking the boy ran off to do as he was told. Throughout all this the elder Dursleys' studiously ignored everything. Petunia promptly replaced Dudley's sausage and not a word was made about the event.

Thundering footsteps raced back to the kitchen. "Mum! Dad! _Harry_'s got a letter!" He waved it around smugly.

"Give it here Dudley." Harry said quietly.

"Who'd write to _you_?" the boy continued to taunt, oblivious to Petunia's growing stiffness.

"Whoever it is does not concern you Dudley." Raising a hand Harry concentrated and summoned the letter. He peered at the letter only for a second before tucking it into his pocket. Of course he was curious, the letter was made of some strange thick parchment that was far from normal. But he wasn't about to let the Dursleys become part of more of his life than he had to allow. "I'm going out. I'll be back before dinner."

His words were mere formalities, neither of them was about to concern themselves overmuch about the other's worries.

Harry left the house before Dudley could even think about following him to steal Vernon's birthday money. Even after years of dealing with Harry the boy was still thick enough to think he could win against Harry. Contrary to all of his so-called abnormality Harry did a relatively normal teenage thing, he escaped toward the mall. Slinging his leather satchel over his shoulder he boarded the bus. Near the back of the vehicle, away from all the other people Harry finally pulled out the letter.

_Harry Potter_

_Smallest Bedroom_

_Four Privet Drive_

_Surrey, England_

Remarkably it was written in green ink of all things. Harry gave the letter a pensive look. Shrugging he opened it, he'd seen stranger things.

**S**

"Well…that explains things." Was Harry's nonplussed comment. His mind hovered somewhere in limbo as he tried to reconcile himself to the latest news.

_Wizards and Witches._

A school to train talent like his, the same tricks Petunia had let slip also belonged to his mother. His parents had obviously been part of that school but how deep this wizardry run? Was that the reason Britain had no records about the Potters? Where they really citizens of another country?

What would it mean for him? He'd signed up as a King's Scholar at Eton. If he declined that in favor of _Hogwarts _not even the devil could re-enroll him. Startled he paused his train of thought; since when was he all that interested in academic achievement? It never really appealed to him and the only reason he'd opted to go to the Academy was to get away from the Dursleys. The second parchment indicated it was also a boarding school, why else would he need a trunk?

Where would he get an owl? These wizards were turning out to be more trouble than they were worth. Did they really rely on a simple letter to convey the disturbing news some parent's wholesome child was a magic-user? Surely not everyone was as eager as the Dursleys to get rid of their child?

Understandingly Harry wandered around the mall without any real interest. Anyone watching would have merely seen a well-dressed boy (his scholarship stipend paid for his personal expenses), with a pageboy haircut styled till it nearly fell into his eyes (he'd never been particularly fond of his scar and planned on having it removed as soon as he was old enough) with no real destination. Stylish glasses almost hid brilliant green eyes and he was a tall strong boy despite having lived in a cupboard for a few years. All in all no one that saw him could ever have called him anything but a sweet shy boy. But he knew what he was even if no one else did. He could be cold and hard when the mood hid him, vindictive when he was roused enough, and now he knew himself to be a wizard.

**S**

Harry opened the door and nearly ran into mad Mrs. Figg from across the street. The Dursleys had left to visit Marge (about their only sanctuary from Harry since he would never willingly stand the woman) and Harry had decided a trip in the library might pass the time.

"Good morning Mrs. Figg." Harry said politely, calling up all the manners the Academy had imparted on him.

The madwoman petted a small cat that been nearly lost in the conglomerate of bright colors that was her knit sweater.

"Hello dear." She smiled somewhat vacantly in his general direction. "I've been meaning to call on you and your Aunt Petunia. Might I come in?"

Harry didn't move from his position despite the woman's flowery presence invading his personal space. "She isn't here at this moment. Do you want to leave a message for her?"

"I suppose that will do, be a dear and tell Petunia there's a letter concerning you that I will be helpful in explaining."

Harry paled for a second before his emerald eyes frosted over. Like a Seeker after a Snitch (despite Harry not knowing what that meant Mrs. Figg immediately appreciated the analogy) one strong hand wrapped around a fluffy forearm. "_That_ letter? Perhaps it would be best if you came in Mrs. Figg."

The woman hummed annoyingly, brown eyes frowning at him from behind thick bottle cap glasses. "It would really be better if I came back when Petunia is here. She _is_ your guardian dear."

"Petunia has left it up to me. She will not be involved in this decision but without more information I won't be making a decision." Harry curtly informed the woman.

"Very well dear…perhaps it would be better if you came over to my house. We can have some tea."

Harry trailed behind the woman, suspicious eyes raking her figure. He'd never been lazy by nature and having developed a manner some might call paranoid Harry probably knew more about his neighbors that even Petunia could have gleaned had she had another decade of spying at her disposal. Besides being overly fond of cats Mrs. Figg had never shown any hint of his sort of talents. Entering her house he dearly hoped being a wizard wouldn't require for him to get a cat; Harry had never been fond of them.

She hummed some tuneless beat as she served them both tea and brought out a tray of pastries. Harry waited patiently for her to start talking. It was a tactic he'd often used against the teachers and Dursleys; by making them talk he was controlling the conversation.

"I suppose I should explain more about Hogwarts then…It is one of the most renowned magical schools in the world. They offer grounding in wizarding subjects, they include Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Astronomy, Charms, and History of Magic. Third years pick up two or more elective courses some of which are Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Divinations, and Care of Magical Creatures."

"What sort of jobs would I be able to get with these skills?" Harry was determined to prove his Uncle wrong and stay off the dole. Mrs. Figg's lifestyle wasn't exactly reassuring.

"Obviously there exists a whole magical world kept sepreate from the Muggle—that's the non-magical—world. We've our own government, schools, laws, law-enforcement, and stores. Hogwart's curriculum should be sufficient in preparing you for entry positions there. Wizards are a bit more old fashioned you see so if you wish to continue your education an Apprenticeship would generally follow."

"What sort of future would I have if I left the magic world?"

Mrs. Figg blinked owlishly. "Heavens…I don't recall having known anyone that did. I'm not to certain about that. I suppose you would have to ask someone with a bit more knowledge in such matters."

Harry frowned discretely. "But you certainly don't live in this magic world."

Her smile was slightly sheepish. "I'm what you would call a squib—someone born to a magic family that doesn't have any active magic of their own. It was easier for me to fall into the Muggle world."

"Are there any other such titles?"

"Of course dear, there are Muggles, completely non-magical people; there are Muggleborns, the opposite of a squib; and Purebloods, those descended of completely magical people."

He fell silent as he considered that information. A hidden world would have kept James Potter's information…well hidden. Lily appeared to be a Muggle-born and like him had probably received an invitation when she was eleven.

"What category do I fall under?"

Ignoring her surprised look he waited for her answer. "Well…Lily was a Muggleborn and James came from a very long line of Purebloods. I suppose you would be a half-blood."

"Is blood all that important?"

Mrs. Figg looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Some people might consider it as such. A few years back there was a very…dark wizard who led a campaign against those he considered tainted blood purity. Those were dark times and thank Merlin he was defeated."

"Suppose I decide to attend…is there some sort of scholarship I could apply for? Dudley will be going of to boarding school and I doubt the Dursleys will appreciate having to pay for me as well."

"Heaven forbid you'd need a scholarship dear! The Potter's were an old family with old money and your parents gained some…fame that the Ministry rewarded them richly for."

"What sort of fame?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Mrs. Figg fluttered her hands uncomfortably. "I'm really not the best person to tell you. Don't worry about it my dear, you'll learn soon enough. For now you should just concentrate on going to Hogwarts. I've been there once or twice and it truly is a marvelous school. It's a castle out in Scotland right next to a lake guarded by a giant squid and merpeople and it has a forest next to it. Third years are allowed into the Hogsmeade, the only completely wizarding village in Europe."

Harry patiently listened to her more than aware she had deliberately thrown out all these other facts so he would stop asking about his parents' notoriety. He was a patient boy, he'd find out soon enough.

"So Merlin was real?"

Mrs. Figg laughed good-naturedly at Harry's first child-like question.

**S**

**An: A story that's been hoveing in my head for a while. I got serious writer's block over myother story but this one just kept hovering in head.**

**It's basically this: What is Harry had been able to control accidental magic and instead of running away or skulking about (like fanfics always make him out to be) he intimitates the crap out of the Dursleys?**

**The books have shown Harry to have some truly wonderful moments of intelligence but more often than not he doesnt think and i think it's because he wasnt encouraged to think. (not if he was expected to keep lower grades than Dudley).**

**Think about it.**

**Emi (Fayr Warning)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me in any way, shape, or form. **

**Author: Fayr Warning**

**S**

Petunia had turned a blotchy green and yellow whenHarry calmly informed her he was going into London to buy school supplies for his new school, one that catered to special talents. His birthday money and the remnants of his scholarship fund should be enough to cover his needs. If that failed he could always investigate that old money Mrs. Figg had babbled about.

Petunia had merely stammered something about her garden and fled outside. Thankfully that summer day Dudley being the sensitive boy he was had gone out to say goodbye to all his old haunts before he left to boarding school in the fall. Heaven forbid Vernon know about the little excursion Harry was undertaking.

Around midmorning Mrs. Figg strolled up the entry to Four Privet Drive. Harry wasn't keen on letting Mrs. Figg investigate his family life overmuch. He doubted she would understand or like the Dursley-Potter dynamics. Besides, neither the Dursleys nor Harry liked interlopers sniffing in on their home life. For the most part the Dursleys were scared someone would spot Harry's abnormality or realize just how cowed he had them. For his part Harry wasn't about to let any well-meaning adult butt in on his affairs; no one had cared when he'd been a scavenger within his own home and he wasn't about to relinquish control now that he had everything he needed.

Harry sprang up to meet Mrs. Figg before she could even walk halfway down the entryway.

"I'm ready Mrs. Figg."

She smiled sweetly at him. "Isn't your Aunt Petunia joining us?"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No." he said back just as sweetly.

For a minute she looked flustered before her face settled back into a genial expression. "I suppose that's alright. Come along them, we'll be taking the Knight Bus—that's magical transportation for the stranded witch or wizard."

Harry frowned but didn't say anything. Together they walked for a while till they were at the local bus stop.

"Most people ignore anything strange as long as it can be explained away." She informed him knowingly. "Now to signal it one would usually just raise their wand as if they were flagging them. Since I'm a squib I haven't a wand so they issue us charmed silver rods that resonate with the same magical frequency a wand would have."

Mrs. Figg proceeded to demonstrate. There was an odd pitched humming before a double decker bus appeared with a wild bang. Harry was slowly being filled with a certain amount of trepidation he identified as the prevailed emotion whenever Malcolm or Will were about to take him on one of their adventures.

"I know I'm going to regret this." Harry mumbled mournfully.

The Knight Bus was something his two Academy friends would have enjoyed. It had the same feel as the fun house Malcolm had dragged their little group to once. That wasn't to say he wasn't ready to kiss the ground the moment he got off. Besides looking a little pale Mrs. Figg looked remarkably unruffled. Harry shot her a sour glare from beneath his fringe as he _almost_ hugged a nearby wall.

"The Leaky Cauldron is one of the many entrances to Diagon Alley and probably the safest you'll find." The dingy bar didn't look all that safe but Harry was beginning to realize wizards were missing more than a few leaps in reason.

Inside the pair quickly passed a busybody bartender as they moved toward the back of the bar. Being a squib Mrs. Figg didn't spend any significant time in the magical world. Thankfully (at least to Harry's mind) she didn't know anyone at the Leaky Cauldron and both of them hurriedly escaped the dank atmosphere.

_A few leaps in reason_, Harry reminded himself as he stared at the blank alley behind the Leaky Cauldron. As Malcolm would say he was _so_ _out of there_ the moment someone asked him to prick his finger on anything sharp.

**S**

Diagon Alley was…for lack of a better word, an entirely different world. These wizards and witches were dressed straight out of a fantasy movie. Wizards weren't as discrete as they would like to believe if that was how they truly dressed. Costume Halloween witches had been mimicking the pointy hats and robes for ages. The long Alley was stacked side by side with the oddest stores he'd ever seen. It struck him as odd that few buildings were over two stories; most were one level mad construction of mortar and bricks. Harry almost winced when he thought what a building inspector would say. Some things were literally being held up by magic. All around strange smells and sights nearly made Harry go bug-eyed. Almost as if deliberately boggling his mind three Shakespearian witches argued over 'newt eyes'.

Mrs. Figg kindly continued her crash course into magical mayhem. "Wizards deal with their own currency, Gold galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts. These shops can't accept anything but that currency—something about goblin monopoly. Up ahead you'll see Gringotts Bank, the finest wizarding bank—in Britain they happen to be the only bank. Do you need me to go inside with you to exchange your money?"

Harry glanced at the intimidating guards standing at attention. "No…I'll be fine."

"Very well dear, I'll start looking for your supplies. Just go into the bookstore when you're done."

Harry's first introduction to goblins was an odd experience. It was the first truly otherworldly evidence he'd come across. The cast from something straight out of Tolkins was lined up behind a counter, weighing and measuring baubles and coins. Harry joined one of the many lines. Money was an international business and London's banks shouldn't be that different from Gringotts.

"Yes?" the creature practically sneered—reminiscent of the bank manager Vernon sometimes had over for dinner. Harry let the goblin's foul demeanor wash over him. He might not know goblins but he knew bankers. Give them an inch and they'll take a mile.

"Before their death my parents had an account here. I need access to it."

"Key?"

"None that I know off but I'm sure you don't simply rely on a little key to open the accounts here." Harry said smoothly, intense emerald eyes successfully making the goblin fidget. An unpleasant smirk crept on his lips—Harry could be a mean little bastard when it suited him.

The goblin pursed his lips in annoyance but signaled another of his fellow's forward. "Follow Rhigole here and he'll issue a new key so long as you're approved. If you aren't…it can be quite painful." The goblin smiled nastily. "Next!"

Rhigole was brisk in his dealings, his head absentmindedly starring at the ground as he led Harry into a small office. Pricking him once with a strange silver instrument he popped it into a strange churning contraption that sputtered a few times before spitting out a silver key.

"Are there any restrictions on the account?"

The goblin Rhigole looked at him startled and Harry suspected he had forgotten there had been anyone in the room with him. Rhigole seemed to blink a few times as if he didn't quite understand Harry.

"Ah yes…you have unlimited access to the trust account set for one Harry James Potter. The family account cannot be opened till the Potter Heir reaches wizarding majority at seventeen human years."

"What does the trust account have?"

Rhigole shuffled through a few parchments being spilled out from a contraption that probably served the same purpose as a printer. "A monthly allotment to support the minor Potter till his majority. The stipend has not been withdrawn from since it was put into effect nearly a decade ago. This year the appropriate amount will be added to pay for Hogwarts tuition as specified in the will of the late Potters."

"Can I have a copy of that will?"

The goblin tapped a gold rod on his desk and a roll of parchment flew from stacks upon stacks lined up against the wall.

"It's a standard will all Gringott clients are encouraged to sign. Naming the beneficiaries and caretakers of the estate in case of death."

Harry quickly scanned the will, ignoring the monetary instructions he searched for his name among the spidery handwriting.

"_In the event of the death of James Harry Potter and Lily Camille Potter, the minor Harry James Potter is to be given into the care of one Sirius Orion Black, named godfather of the minor. If such actions are not optional the minor Potter is to be given into the care of one Alice Eliza Longbottom, named godmother of the minor. If such actions are not optional the minor Potter is to be given into the joint care of Peter Oswald Pettigrew and Remus Jonathon Lupin."_

"Why wasn't I given to any of these people mentioned here?" Harry bluntly asked the goblin. The creature contently ignored him as he tapped his desk once more. Retrieving another parchment with a heavy seal Harry would learn to recognize as the Ministry emblem he scanned the parchment.

"_Guardianship of Harry James Potter_

_Case 583n_

_Filed: Winifred Synclair._

_Date: November 28, 1981_

_Sirius Orion Black…Denied_

_See Azkaban Prison for further incarceration records._

_Alice Eliza Longbottom…Denied_

_See St. Mungo's Long Term Ward for further records._

_Peter Oswald Pettigrew and Remus Jonathon Lupin…Denied._

_P.Pettigrew listed as deceased on October 31, 1981._

_R. Lupin denied separate petition. See Lynchatrophy registry._

_Minor will be placed in the care of Petunia Evans Dursley on the recommendation of one Albus Dumbledore._

The Will was plain and straightforward as were the following documents. Nevertheless Harry frowned with displeasure at the parchments.

Something shoddy was up.

Why had he been given to Petunia almost a full month before his case had come up for a hearing? What kind of influence did the Dumbledore fellow has that he would be able to push Harry's placement?

From what he'd seen of this much vaunted magical center the Wizarding wasn't that big and incredibly lax to interact with the outside world. His father had been old blood apparently…surely there had been some inbreed cousin out there able to take Harry in? Why had he been placed with the Dursleys? Anyone that knew them in the magical sense must have known their utter dislike (and nasty fear) of anything magical.

**S**

Harry caught up with Mrs. Figg in the bookstore. His parents' Will and bank statement was stuffed into his book bag. Another pouch filled with the wizarding coins jingled whenever he moved.

"There you are Harry dear. It's a madhouse here! Hogwarts term is coming on." Harry vaguely nodded at Mrs. Figg as he scanned the books stacked nearly to the ceiling in every available corner. Books were something he understood, most of what had learned had come out of books. He'd never liked teachers, even the ones that didn't have to pretend they didn't see his new collection of bruises. Frankly he had never been able to trust them. Surrey Primary School had thought him a rude brat in later years but funnily enough the Fairfax Academy had gotten off with calling him 'unique and difficult'.

"—Mum! Mum!" A bushy haired girl squealed. "One more please! Just this one!"

A nearby woman sighed tiredly as she pushed back stray curly hair back into a tight bun. "Maybe another day dear. Your father's waiting for us—"

"—Grandfather swore he'd go to Professor Dumbledore himself if Davis didn't let me try out for the Quidditch team." An Asian looking girl told another girl looking entirely too smug for one her age.

"—I'm hungry!" wailed a small boy with a smudge on his brow. His companion (and minder) was an older boy with messy brown hair, focused brown eyes locked on a book about…cleaning? Why would anyone his age be reading so avidly over broom?

"Give me a minute Davy."

"I'll tell mum that you bought another Quidditch book Oliver!"

"Davy don't you dare—"

Harry gathered his mind as he began tuning out all the distractions. It was a trick he'd picked up when he was younger and Vernon had been fond of hearing his own voice bellow obscenities. Not that he still wasn't fond except the oaf no longer dared subject Harry to those tirades. Harry was able to push his mind clear of all the unnecessary distractions and let his thoughts ascent to a 'plane' where everything seemed quieter, the world more muted.

Mrs. Figg was in line with his schoolbooks already but Harry wasn't about to limit what he considered a necessary expense. He avoided schoolbooks and other advanced materials and proceeded to search for tomes on the history of the magical world as well as anything that even hinted at trying to explain what a 'wizard' was and what they were capable of. These magicians were daft enough to forget to mention something as silly as all wizards being able to turn into toads during the new moon just because everyone already knew. He hated that statement.

'Everyone knows…' Most of his trouble seemed to spring from that source.

Mrs. Figg didn't comment on Harry's extra reading material. After all she wasn't about to pay for any of it. He didn't bother going into the more advanced tomes—it wouldn't have helped him out much. He didn't have a clue what wizards were capable of to begin with. Besides Harry had been his own financial manager since he had money to manage and he'd learned to appreciate the value of his pound…err Galleon. The school would no doubt have an adequate library…or he'd transfer to a better school. It was his money after all.

Harry didn't exactly understand why Mrs. Figg promptly abandoned him as soon as they approached the wand shop. She stammered something about kneazles and fled. He snickered quietly whenever he thought of wizards needing _wands_. It was just entirely too quaint.

The first thing he noticed was the heavy smell of…time. It was like years and decades had curled up in the shop and died.

And they were currently being smashed awake.

"Mum!" A red-faced girl shrieked as a short wand gave out angry yellow sparks. "It's not working!"

"Interesting, interesting." Muttered the odd shop owner as he snatched the wand from the girl. "The wand chooses the wizard you see."

"Then find _my _wand!" The girl said with a stamp of her foot. Periwinkle blue robes fluttered as she turned accusing eyes on the wand maker.

Harry watched a bit stunned as they worked through several more wands before a long mahogany wand let out a show of blue and pink sparks.

"Look! Look!" She yipped excitedly. The thin witch who had hauntingly observed everything finally spoke.

"That's lovely Pansy-dear."

The two witches left in a flurry and the wand maker seemed to sag into the counter once they were gone.

Harry cleared his throat. The wand maker—Ollivander—jumped in surprise.

"Not another one." The man muttered too quietly for most people to hear. Unfortunately for him Harry did. And he was not pleased.

A nasty look filtered through emerald eyes. "I've come for a wand."

An hour later, five fires, three implosions, one broken wand, and one ragged wand maker Harry was practically thrown out of the shop. Maybe Ollivander didn't appreciate all of Harry's snide remarks but admittedly by the end Harry was running out of patience. The door slammed behind him and a few startled wizards gave him surprised looks. He gave them a foul look and they quickly averted their eyes.

His fingers traced his new wand—holly and phoenix feather. He didn't exactly understand the importance of wands yet. As best as he could tell it served as a crutch for wizards, the literal magic stick to fix everything. It was a weakness wizards cultivated and Harry would eat his wand the day he became _weak_.

He squared his shoulders with silent promise. Harry would worry about that later. Right now he needed to find Mrs. Figg. There was enough magic for one day in his opinion.

**S**

"I need a ride to King Cross Station."

Vernon turned a faint pink as his mouth worked in silence. He gave Harry what he hoped was a stern look. "And why would you need a ride?"

Harry smiled with exaggerated sweetness. "I'm going to my new school."

"You had best not expect us to pay for any of it or it's off to Stonewall with you."

"Don't worry Vernon." Harry's smile turned nasty. "My _parents_ have made all the necessary arrangements."

Even Vernon's third chin lost what color it had. "Y-Your wh-what?"

"To the best school of its kind." He continued brightly. "It's called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wiza—"

"I'll not have you say those sort of things in this house!" Vernon bellowed. "Listen here boy. We've taken you in when we could have given you to an orphanage like my sister said. We've fed you and clothed you when you were nothing but a drooling little runt. I won't have you repay our generosity by bringing that unnaturalness into our house."

Vernon was practically hissing by the time he finished.

There was a childish cruelty blooming in Harry's almond eyes as he gazed back at his towering Uncle. The child smoothly drawled, "But Uncle it's far too late to pretend such things don't exist."

"I won't tolerate you sassing off!"

"So _sorry_ Vernon." Harry said mockingly.

Vernon grumbled quietly but otherwise accepted Harry's vastly insincere apology. Even he knew he wasn't liable to get anything more from the boy.

"If I was you I'd be minding my manners a lot more nicely less I decide not to take you to the Station."

"But Uncle," Harry said with exaggerated slowness. "That'll mean I'll stay here _all_ year."

Vernon's face twisted into a grimace. Having the satisfaction of sending the boy to Stonewall High was probably not worth keeping him all year.

"When?" he practically grounded between his teeth.

"September First. Remember Vernon I've already sent my acceptance letter. You wouldn't want any of these _wizards_ to get curious about why I didn't show up."

Vernon merely grunted his agreement as Harry turned away, the conversation won.

From the kitchen door Petunia shakily ventured into the living room. For the past ten minutes she'd furiously been scrubbing the kitchen counter as she pretended her hardest she couldn't hear the boy and her husband talking.

"Dinner's ready."

"Lovely pet." Vernon patted her as he walked to the table. Despite herself Petunia glanced at the boy. Familiar emerald eyes dismissed her carelessly.

_The wizards have found him,_ was all she could think. _They_ would teach him, induct him in _their_ ways, and she would lose whatever normal part of the boy remained to the magic. She'd almost hoped he'd turn away from it all, that he would do the sensible thing and walk away from the abnormality. The child had been on his way to forgetting his youthful unnaturalness. He'd gotten into that nice Academy and while taking out the trash she'd come upon some papers from Eton. For a moment she could almost believe that the boy would become someone the Dursley family wasn't to be ashamed of knowing. For a moment she could almost hope that this pair of emerald eyes wouldn't drown under the swell of magic. But she knew that would never happen now.

_The wizards had found him._

Across the dinner table her eyes caught vague green orbs, their focus turned away from the quiet family dinner. For a second all her hopes paraded across her face but they were gone just as quickly. The child never noticed.

**S **

Harry was packing the last of his clothes into his trunk. His hands paused as they stilled over his Academy uniform. He would miss William and Malcolm. Those two had been the closest he'd ever had to friends and when he rose above his long-term denial he knew they were friends.

"Harry?" His face turned to look at Petunia who hovered over his room's door.

"Yes Petunia?"

"I suppose you'll be leaving soon." She pursed her lips, nervous hands mechanically refolding the rest of his uniform.

"Yes, I suppose I will." Harry said vaguely, patiently waiting for her to get the courage to talk about what she needed to.

"You've everything you need then?"

"Yes."

"That's good then. You have a new uniform?"

"Yes. Wizarding robes." Petunia heard the distinct note of distaste when he spoke about robes.

She hummed her agreement. "You're pleased about going to this…school?"

Harry was silent for a long moment. We weighed the consequence of confiding in Petunia. No matter how amiable she was at this moment Harry would always see a shadow of the tense, curt woman who had send him to a cupboard in the middle of a fierce storm.

"It will be…informative although I don't know if I want to finish a Wizarding education. It doesn't seem all that practical."

"Wouldn't you get a job with one of _them_?" She asked carefully.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know what they do and their world seems more than a little backwater. What if I'm not as magically talented as the rest of them? Will I be a magical nobody or magicless somebody?"

Petunia spared her nephew a glance. Somehow she knew he wasn't on the bottom spectrum of magical talent. Not even Lily whose professors had written glowing reports had been able to do anything he'd done as a child. Not like she was going to say anything like _that_ anytime soon.

"About this business…when we found you on our doorstep there was a letter written by a Dormblyfor or Dublemor fellow. It said something about bad people going after Lily and your father. That you would be hidden in our world away from these bad people that had tried to kill you and…failed. I don't recall much else, Vernon burnt the letter soon after."

Harry continued folding his clothes as she fled, no doubt fearful of the repercussions of keeping a secret from Harry. Alone now he frowned at the various magical items he'd ordered by owl since his trip to Diagon Alley. His eyes honed in on a history book, something he'd neglected in favor of trying to understand what a wizard was. He didn't know what he was looking for but he knew the year of his parents' deaths and that should be enough. And it was.

_The fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort, 1981_

The year his parents died. But it wasn't that that caught his interest. His eyes had latched on to the next title.

_Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived._

**S**

King's Cross Station was one shove after another. Apparently if you were under five feet you deserved less space than most. A lone boy weaved in and out of people, shoving briefcases and handbags side to side. It was only the manners his old Headmistress had drilled in his head that allowed him to keep his composure. Otherwise he very well might start snarling and hexing some of the fools that thought it a bright idea to stand still in the middle of the busy train station.

And for God's sake whose brilliant idea was it to use trunks? He would be perfectly content with his old Fairfax suitcase but _noooo_ the bloody school liked to impose its tyrannical rules.

Maybe his temper was starting to become a tat frayed.

Finally he stood in the wall separating Platform Nine and Ten. Why did wizards have to be so convoluted? Couldn't they just have a nice little sign saying 'if you run through this wall it won't hurt you'? After all only a wizard would be daft enough to believe it.

"_Best to it at a bit of a run dear_." He imitated Mrs. Figg's whispery voice. He cursed under his breath as he tentatively struck a hand in the barrier.

"Old hag…" He muttered as he stuck a foot. Dimly he wondered if he was offending the hag or Mrs. Figg more. Pretty sure this wouldn't end with him on his bum he slowly walked forward. Passing the barrier was a bit like what he imagined swimming inside a marshmallow would be like. Sort of sluggish but with enough pressure it gave under him.

And there it was. Brilliant red and gleaming as if it was a goblin's prized hoard of gold. "God I hope I don't regret this."

Dragging his trunk onto the train proved a tat more difficult than expected. Of course everyone had family and friends here, plenty of help there. Unfortunately, Harry and the Dursleys wouldn't be caught dead together in such a place. For a moment he was tempted to just barricade an entrance with his trunk till some hopelessly helpful student dragged it on board for him. But he didn't really want to risk loosing it, not after he spend all that bloody money on it.

The bloody bounty awarded the Potters for killing Voldemort.

What a load of Prince Charming shit rearing its head. Harry dearly hoped no one was daft enough to believe he would be anything like Prince Charming.

"Hey tall, dark, and goon-like." Harry imperially ordered a robed student with a green badge that looked just stupid enough to follow orders and smart enough to carry them out. The boy in question blinked blearily at him, his expression just plain bewildered. "Yes you, be a good chap and help me carry this on board." Harry explained, his voice carrying the proper amount of impatience to make the boy hurry along. The boy blinked once more before he lumbered toward him and deftly picked the truck up.

"Follow me." Harry quickly found an empty compartment. He wasn't looking pleased with the idea of sharing close quarters with a bunch of nosy brats for what would be very long hours.

"Stow it away. Now go find the trolley and buy yourself a sweet." He flipped the boy a silvery coin. The compartment looked pleasant enough Harry decided as he did a quick check. Turning to close the door Harry was met with another green-badged student that looked decidedly smarter than the last. Though his heart might have jumped up his throat and down Harry merely raised an eyebrow in question.

"You would be…?" He drawled. Let it never be said he didn't learn something of snobbery at the Academy.

The boy mimicked his raised eyebrow. "That was Hywell you've just sent on a search that should take him the better part of the day. He's very useful company to have in a tight spot but not the best to copy your Charm homework off."

"Oh?" Harry shrugged unconcerned. "Maybe he'll make new friends.

The boy's lip twitched but he made no further comment. "I'm Marcus Flint. Slytherin."

"A pleasure I'm sure." Harry drawled.

"Don't worry. It is." Flint said as loftily as Malcolm could have ever done.

"If you say so."

"You could have always just charmed the truck weightless."

Harry wasn't about to parade his ignorance. "Then where would Hywell be without me?"

"Probably carrying _my_ trunk."

"Humm…then I suppose I should be glad you already had a back-up plan."

"Can't even do a little wizardry mageling?"

"That's generally the assumption for a first year; wouldn't want to be wrong about that, would you?"

"A wizardless wizard." Scoffed Flint.

"I wouldn't be applauding the virtues of being a wizard just yet." Harry eyes flickered to Hywell as he made another round of the corridor. "I'm still trying to figure out where the majority of you keeps your common sense."

"A Muggle-lover are you?" sneered the boy.

Harry raised a disdainful eyebrow. "I've already figured out most of _them_ haven't got much sense to begin with."

"So what are you my Muggle-hating, wizard-trouncing nameless friend?"

"Pretty much the first two and very little of the last."

Flint gave a barking laugh. "Aww…not a mageling then. Better an asp for such a vicious little boy."

Harry traded his own sneer with Flint. "Shouldn't taunt if you believe that much in my bite."

"You'd do well in Slytherin little Aspling."

"Doesn't mean Slytherin would do well in me."

Flint gave him an amused smile. "But you've Salazar's own tongue. I'd love to see what you would do to the other Houses with your venom. Granted a vast majority will be too thick to understand half of what your black heart says."

"Such a charming fellow you are…please do stop all your pretty words." Harry said in his trademark flat voice.

"Named truly Aspling." Was all Flint said.

Harry decided not to argue the pet name; chances were he'd still end up with one. "Somewhere someone must be missing their fearless leader, Flint. Either that or Hywell finally found the trolley."

"Trying to get rid of me? I'll allow it this time but you should know it isn't the brave that call me. We frown on that sort of thing. Welcome to Hogwarts Aspling. It will be a true terror if you made it into any House but mine."

"I live to please…myself."

"Don't we all." Was Flint's farewell call.

Harry grumbled once as he finally noticed the train begin to move. With any luck none of the brats would bother him for the rest of the ride.

**S**

Waking up from a doze he knew better to hope he was alone. Peaking though one bleary eye he discovered much to his disgust some of the students had taken his nap as a sign the compartment was open.

"—my sister says we have to bleed into the House Cup. Whatever color it turns into means what House you'll be in.," recounted a blond-haired boy to his two pale companions.

"Can you imagine? I heard some boys on the Platform saying you had to fight a troll."

"Don't be thick. They can't possibly expect us to do anything of that sort. My parents wouldn't stand for it."

The compartment door slid open. Under his eyelashes Harry studied the newest arrival, a pale boy with a shocking head of light blond hair that was anything but natural.

"Harry Potter's supposed to be on this train." He announced as if that explained it all. It probably did.

"Him? You really think?" one of the children asked excitedly.

The blond boy sneered nastily. "Figures none of you are it. My father says Dumbledore's probably got the boy at Hogwarts already, he is the one that hid Potter to begin with."

The blond boy left to the scandalized gasps of the children who had just seen a living idol being so casually spoken off. Harry didn't like the blond boy, he spoke entirely too freely. He let his mind drift as the children began debating the appearance of 'Harry Potter'.

This fame…made him uneasy. He'd always survived by himself and he didn't like everyone knowing something about him even before he knew their names. Truth be told the expectations people would have made him uneasy. No one had ever really expected anything from him. Nothing good anyway.

The rest of the trip passed without a word from him. The children he shared the compartment with still under the impression he was asleep and he had no desire to change that.

**S**

The next time Harry woke up the sun was shinning directly on to his face. Releasing an annoyed hiss he carefully opened his eyes. And blinked. And just for safety's sake he blinked once more.

"What the hell?"

Black beady eyes gazed back at him somewhat reproachfully. Green-gray skin shined dully. It looked nice enough as far as toads went. Now all he had to figure out was why a toad was resting on his chest.

The same children from earlier had broken their whispered conversation and were watching him avidly. Even as Harry watched one child bit the leg of a squirming chocolate frog. His boyish face twisted in fascination and disgust.

"No one will bite you." Harry told the toad. Beatty eyes looked back at him trustingly.

"Hey!" chocolate smudged lips said indignantly. Harry patted the toad reassuringly.

"About time you woke up." A blond-haired boy said as imperiously as any eleven-year old child could.

Harry glanced at the boy with disinterest. Harry was not impressed by the boy's self-importance—and he had no problem showing it either. He seemingly dismissed the boy as he asked the other two children a question. "Does this toad belong to any of you?"

"No." A brown-skinned girl muttered shyly.

"We thought it was yours." The other girl added, a faint tinge on her cheeks clueing him on the joke made at his expense. Even Harry who hadn't seen the point in getting a pet could tell toads were rather odd creatures to have. He had had some initial interest in getting a pet but after entering the shop he hadn't managed to maintain a straight face after he heard the word _familiar._

"So who to you belong to?" Harry asked the toad frankly. The toad blinked back languidly. Still slouched in his position Harry made no motion to disturb the content toad. "And who are all of you?"

"Anthony Howard Goldstein." The blond boy said immediately, his tone implying the name was important.

"Padma Patil." The brown-skinned girl said, confirming her Indian ancestry. Dark eyes shyly crinkled in greeting.

"Li Su—I mean Su Li. I am not accustomed to Western introduction yet." The girl explained, a heavy Asian accent lilting her voice.

Harry shrugged lightly.

"I'm Harry. Do you know how much farther the school is?"

"We're supposed to be there by nightfall." Patil said quietly.

"Did the trolley pass already?"

"Yes." Li said apologetically. "We did not think to wake you. I still have some chocolate frogs if you want any."

"They wouldn't happen to be those twitching things Goldstein was eating?"

She nodded and Harry grimaced lightly. "No thanks. I'd rather not eat anything that can fight back."

"It's not _really_ alive." Goldstein informed him.

Harry gave him a distrustful look. "Another time. I'm not all that hungry anyway."

"You know this is the last time you'll be able to buy your own sweets. First years aren't allowed off grounds."

Harry shrugged again. "If I'm ever that desperate I'm sure I can buy them from the older students. Besides I can always order them via owl."

"You have to buy in bulk if you order with a catalog." Goldstein persisted.

He rolled his eyes. "Two words—financially independent. Anyway wizarding candy is a bit…strange. I brought my own."

"You're a Muggleborn." Patil said excitedly. Harry raised his eyebrow in question. She blushed lightly but still studied him with interest. "I'm sorry if I seem a little rude but my father never let us out much. He never let us go out into the Muggle world and I've so many questions about it."

"I take it all of you are purebloods?"

"Of course. The Goldstein's can trace back their lineage to the fifteenth century."

"I am a half-blood actually but my father and step-mother raised me. They are both magical." Li said.

"I'm afraid my family's also pureblood although we can't trace our family as far back as Anthony's." Patil added.

"Interesting." Was all Harry said. Goldstein frowned at him expectatively.

"And what are you?" He finally said.

"Don't know really now that I think about it. I was raised as Muggle so I've a _Muggleborn's_ knowledge. But then again my father was a pureblood so that would really make me a _half-blood_. But then again my mother was magical so wouldn't that make me a second-generation _pureblood_? After all some pureblood lines are longer than others and who is to say mine isn't the beginning of a new one some other kid will be talking about five-hundred years from now? It's all really bothersome and I'd rather just call myself magic-inclined and leave it at that."

Li's eyes shinned in silent amusement even as the other two purebloods blinked a tat dumbly. And for once Goldstein didn't have anything to say. Harry made no motion to hide the smug smirk creeping on his lips.

He didn't like pretentious brats.

"We'll be at Hogwarts in a bit. Everyone should be in their robes." A red-haired boy with a gold '_P_' badge on his chest said from the compartment doorway. Just as quickly he disappeared down the hallway.

Li and Goldstein left to change out of robes that were definitely not part of the uniform. Harry was happy he'd thought to change before he took his nap and it seemed as Patil had come dressed in her uniform.

"So what House to you figure you'll be in?" Harry asked the quiet Indian girl.

"I hope I'll get into Ravenclaw. My twin—she's also on the train—hopes we both get into Gryffindor but I can't really imagine myself in that House. My sister's always has been the more out-going of the two of us. I suppose Hufflepuff wouldn't be that bad but if I get into Slytherin my sister said she'd never talk to me again." Patil worriedly confessed.

Harry raised a vaguely interested eyebrow. "I didn't really understand this whole House business. How can they tell which House belongs to us and will still belong to us seven years from now?"

Patil uncertainly shrugged. "My parents said they would sort us right but it's tradition for first-years not to know how."

"You think we can change it if we don't like our House?"

"If you read _Hogwarts: A History_ you would see that since the school's founding forty-eight students have requested to be re-sorted, eleven have been transferred by the staff to another House, and two have removed from all House activities. But all of those were older students. We're not allowed a resorting till third-year."

"Wonder what you have to do to get kicked out of all the Houses…" Harry wondered not so innocently. Maybe he should have read the Hogwarts book but he just never got around to it after he got caught up in his schoolbooks and the other Wizarding history books.

"We'll be there in five minutes." Goldstein told both of them as he entered the compartment. "What were you talking about?"

"The Houses." Patil informed him promptly.

"I'll be a Ravenclaw. My family's been in Ravenclaw for ages but I suppose Slytherin wouldn't be that bad. I had an uncle that was in that House."

The train came to a stop as Li returned to the compartment. Despite himself Harry had to squish a nervous tremble that wanted to make itself known. This wasn't some joke. He really was going to a magical school.

"First years!" A tall, hairy man bellowed.

"End of the road toad." Harry whispered to the toad as he released it into a nearby shrub. He started to walk toward the tall man, which meant fighting against the press of students moving toward some carriages.

"First years!" The man bellowed again.

And all Harry could think about was how utterly odd the world was.

**S**

**Review! Eighty-odd reviews freaked me out enough that I wrote a second chapter...I'm easily intimidated.**

**And no this is not the begining of a new Ravenclaw quartet.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me in any way, shape, or form**

**AN: I need a Beta.**

**S**

Without knowing how or why Harry ended up in a rickety boat alongside two giggling girls and a nervous moon-faced boy who sniffed wetly. Despite a rather prickly attitude and a frankly suspicious air Harry was still an eleven-year old boy surrounded by strange people and stranger things and even Goldstein would have been a welcomed companion.

Still there was comfort in the simplest familiarities; the sway of the tiny boat calling to mind his only previous trip across water, that being a ride in the amusement park rented for one of the Fairfax Academy boy's birthday party. And fortunately or unfortunately, that was were normalcy ended.

Trailing wet robes the shepherded students made their way up cool stone steps lit only by archaic torches. Suffice to say it was obvious the 20th century and possibly the 18th century as well had been mislaid somewhere along the way. Stoic suits of armor guarded their path and the unwary student who wandered too near waters-edge had the distinct pleasure of suffering cool metal fingers grasp whatever available limb and steer them back on track. Unsurprisingly, independent exploration was severely curtailed.

"Everything is bloody brilliant." Whispered another black-clad student; a shocking mop of red-hair distinguishing him clearly among the mass.

"I can't believe I'm finally here." Two girls simultaneously erupted, their childish voice doubling back on itself as it hit stone walls.

"Mum swears I'll be a Ravenclaw." Said another, their figure lost among shadows and too-big school robes meant to 'grow' into the child.

"Har…!" A girl's voice called out, the last syllable abruptly swallowed among the shifting children. "Harry."

And there she was, slanted eyes darting his way as a nervous hand reached out to him before falling back to her side.

"Li."

"There are so many children." Su Li confessed as she fell into step besides Harry.

"There's probably more wherever they'll lead us to."

Li frowned but didn't say anything else.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Harry began with his usual briskness. "But are wizarding families really so very isolationist?"

Dark eyes crinkled in puzzlement, "I do not understand."

"For example, did you attend a primary school?"

"Not exactly. My family hired a tutor till I was eight and then I attended Madam de Saussure's School of Magic."

"Did you take many day trips with your school?"

"Some, of course; we visited the Charleston Dragon Preserve, the…LaMiere Magical Greenhouses, the…Nymph-Tree Sanctuary."

"How about this, have you ever ridden a car or bus?"

"Those metal contraptions? We studied them in school of course but I cannot recall riding one."

"What do your parents work at?"

"Fu-qing…Father is the Chinese Empire's ambassador to the British Magical Ministry."

"Oh."

With that Harry shrugged, content to walk alongside the quiet girl who was preoccupied with catching glimpses of shifting portraits. The smooth flow of traveling students was abruptly interrupted as they faced a large door; one gilded with intricate carvings and stood what must have been some thirteen feet. In the abrupt mesh of bodies Li's black-haired head was lost as curious children pressed forward, intent on seeing what lay in front.

Startled gasps and surprised shrieks announced the presence of pale specters, ghostly forms dressed in all manner of forms flickering by as they called out greetings.

"Lovely dinner the Headmaster's planned." One rather large woman dressed in an extravagant ball gown confessed to a solemn man, his plain robe speckled with dark blotches that had no easy explanation.

"Welcome! Welcome, children. Hogwarts has a place for everyone and everything—may you enjoy your time here." A cheerful man shouted out, never once slowing down as he disappeared into a stone wall.

Up front Hagrid, the giant of a man, smiled broadly at a woman entering from a small hall to the side.

"….essour McGonagall." Hagrid's voice boomed as it drifted over the whispering first-years and battling the echo that redoubled every word.

Figuring her to be one of his future teachers Harry peered at her closely and guessed she would be a strict taskmaster, one inclined to favor hard-work but once her favor was given she'd be loath to take it away. Her speech about Houses and families settled on his shoulders like an ill-fit.

There was something so binding about tying yourself to a House. Something not exactly wrong per say just stifling about knowing the nervous mesh of first-years that had so far happily poked at each other for reassurance would be divided. One-fourth of those pressing uncomfortably to his back and jabbing unwary hands would gain a more intimate acquaintance to his life that he had ever allowed anyone to have. Even his cupboard had been his alone; his space, his retreat, his undisturbed rest.

And with a groan that spoke of age, dark doors swung open. The Great Hall glowed invitedly, cantles suspended in what looked to be the night sky. Chattering figures craned as they spotted the suddenly faltering first-years. Laughter and voices rose and fell in a crescendo.

All around him, banners and gilded silverware bespoke of age and history. A school vested in tradition and very well looking the same as it did fifty years ago. Marching between two long tables, the black robes of each student served to blend in and elongate the Hall till it was a sea of curious heads that bobbed up from the black mass.

Long ago Petunia and Vernon Dursley taught their nephew the inevitability of illusions. Everyone wore them, everyone had them. Once upon a time they had shown him through example more than anything else how people saw what they wanted to see. So much in fact that they were often prepared to ignore or excuse evidence that pointed to the contrary.

Petunia and Vernon Dursley of Four Privet Drive, Surrey, are moral, upstanding citizens of the community who worked hard for their lot, sported a single son that would carry on his father's tradition, and had the good grace of taking in their orphaned nephew. It was an illusion that served them well in the affluent neighborhood they found themselves in, one that ignored the destructive tendencies of their son and the ruffled appearance of their young nephew. Later it excused the Dursleys strange relationship with that same nephew, the one that had been accepted to an exclusive boarding school. The illusion didn't ask awkward questions, didn't guess facts, and didn't tread where it didn't belong.

Like it or not no one was ever quite prepared to seen as clearly as they really were.

So in a world were illusions had the power to take a physical form as never before Harry had to wonder how much of what he saw was real and how much had never been there to begin with.

And that was why, more than anything else, Harry had the sudden urge to turn right around, hum really loudly and swim till he found someone who knew the price of gas and England's chances of winning the next World Cup.

It was simple really.

Common sense said to leave, to run far away.

Common sense said none of it was possible; someone's dream made abstract, twisted into reality. None of Harry's goals—however vague they'd been—had ever introduced the idea of a magical school. And even there, surrounded by jostling children, nervous figures fluttering from corner to corner, he was alone. Alone because he didn't see a fairy realm; a secret world told to the special few.

He saw time, stranded and stilted, waiting for the moment to unravel. And that was the first time he'd ever been scared of the Wizarding World.

"I don't believe it." A girl giggled near his elbow, her co-conspirator waving merrily at ghostly woman who drifted closely.

"Welcome my dear." The buxom brunette immortalized as a silver specter graciously replied, a heavy gown glowing softly as her ornate fan swayed back and forth.

"I can't believe this is happening." the chattering girl continued, "It's just as beautiful as I thought it would be. I still feel I'm dreaming. We'll have so much fun, don't you think Suze?"

"Absolutely." 'Suze' grinned back.

A nearby clankering suit of armor swung an arm forward, jostled iridescent metal as it settled more comfortably. Surprised laughter and startled yelps swept the ground.

"_Muggles_." A dark-eyed boy sneered to his companions. "Don't know the first thing about magic. Mother says it's a disgrace they're allowed to come to Hogwarts at all. Just you wait—someone's not coming back for Spring and it'd bet you a galleon it's a…_Mudblood_." He finished in a pointed whisper.

"I'm here. I'm here. I'm here." A round-faced boy muttered to himself, seemingly oblivious to the dark robes that fluttered around him. He was pale and sweaty, a familiar looking toad clutched in his arms. Harry had the distinct feeling the toad was planning an escape.

"Harry." The name was said with odd warmth, its origin giving him a hesitant grin as dark slanted eyes invited him to come closer. For a moment Harry stared back, capturing the air of easy patience the Asian girl carried around herself.

"Li?"

"Just in case we are not in the same House I hope you will still consider me your friend."

Harry shuffled, "I wouldn't forget."

Green eyes shied away from the slightest form of implied intimacy. It was so much easier with boys. They weren't in the mind to affirm and reaffirm relationships. It gave him little opportunity to evade such uncomfortable subjects. Thankfully that was as far as Su Li was willing to rattle Harry.

With a start, a ratty hat opened its brim to a suddenly quite hall. Blinking in surprise Harry followed the song being cajoled into every nook and cranny of his head. Sharing one last glance with Li, they both turned to the front as MgGonagall steped forward, her voice easily reaching them.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

**S**

**TBC...**

_AN: A little short but I figure the only way to get back in a writting grove is just do it._


	4. Chapter 4

**S**

He was their Golden Child. A Savior born in the eve of the last great British Wizarding War. It was a miracle made corporal in a time when only a miracle would do. After a decade of silence shrouded in tale after impossible tale their fairytale child Prince returned. And in a world were dragons and goblin hordes, fairies and prophecies, and the blood of princesses still flowed in aristocratic veins it was not too much to hope that this tale at least would end with a Happily Ever After.

He had already traveled the well-worn road of the Fairytale Prince. He had been tragically orphaned, had conquered his evil-adversary, and had accomplished his simply impossible act. So in a world of damsels and dragons, such a figure should have lived a happy life; his lot that of easy indulgence and benevolent eyes.

So what was do be done now?

Serious green eyes had no humor in them to play the part of Prince; had no easy warmth to invite friendships and confidences. A quiet boy who stood apart his people as if he was not one of them, did not quite understand them.

So what was do be done now?

**S**

Ten years in the making; a blood-aunt and her family, a challenging Muggle school, and the easy life of the affluent should have given the Wizarding World a happy boy. A wizard-child born and breed, raised in the outside world that was ever-increasingly encroaching on their enclaves.

To Albus Dumbledore, whose age was made greater by the day, this prophecy child would be the one to heal the Wizarding World. Unknowingly Albus shared much the same thoughts as Harry Potter; their world had stagnated long ago, was diverging more and more from the outside world. It was his well-worn fear that one day not too far in the making the Wizarding World would shatter every last bridge formed of common understanding. Because even if the Magical World hid phoenixes and hippogriffs, those things were things of fantasy and Muggles, whose minds made them clever, were quick to imitate all that they dreamt. Still worse was the inability of the wizards themselves to grasp that the world had changed greatly since the days of witch-burning.

Fifty-three students enrolled as first-years, eleven of them completely Muggle-born, thirty-eight more of which had elected-to waive magical training. Every-year more and more magical gifts made their way into mainstream society and every year a large number took one look at Diagon Alley and elected to continue Muggle education.

And now Albus saw the splinter in his world, saw the New Blood running free and the Old Families jealously guarding their lineage. One day, if they were not careful, the New Blood would rise from within the Muggle World, their newfound methods of communication linking them as once upon a time only wizards had done. And if they were not careful, the Old Families and Hogwarts with it would fade under the weight of age and stagnation.

To Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter had everything needed to spearhead the bridge back to the Muggle World. And if the old mad worried about the return of another child this very system had produced he let it rest for a time. Ten years of silence had passed quietly and for such an old man it was not too much to hope that whatever ghost lingered from the Man-Who-Was-Feared-By-All-But-Dumbledore had quietly lost whatever grasp he had clung to in the mortal plane.

So if he studied the child a little more closely than was his custom and compared every feature against the many Potters that had made his acquaintance over the last century, well, there was little thought that had not already been thought half a dozen times in the space of the second between Minerva's steady shout and the time it took the slender child to made his way forward.

"Potter, Harry!"

And really, the boy had all the potential to be a truly remarkable child. If the impossible was regularly accomplished and the improvable fought and won, then there was only the simple matter of the world left to deal with.

**S**

It was that time of year again.

Quite a pleasant time he would say if anyone had ever bothered to ask.

For you see when existence stretched such a length that even one that was not bound by the effects of time had found himself counting the years…well, suffice to say the days grew daunting.

He had no original concept of time, no sense of self or understanding of simple pleasures save through those that would seek his counsel. It was not his lot to be anything save what a figure in his distant memory had called him to be.

So every year gentle hands, more often that not elderly, would take him from his perch and place him in the Great Hall. It was time for another Sorting and true to form the Sorting Hat would do what it was called to do.

He had forgotten more than anyone would ever know but still in the moth-balls of his mind four figures drifted to the forefront. Their names had become legend, their legacy immense and now after centuries of exaltation the Sorting Hat was one of the few things that carried their true memory. Because while it was true Godric was a brave fellow, quick to fight and quicker to laugh, it was wrong to think Godric had never been frightened. And Salazar, sly chap that he'd been, was one who spoke with a silver tongue but sometimes had been tricked out of his Kneazles. Rowena as well, wise-woman that she'd been called, had still been a fool in matters of love. And Helga, not to be forgotten, for all her hard-working laurels had been known to grow plump on Feast-days when the goose was cooked and the delicate sauces brought out.

It was a good year, the Sorting Hat would think in its moth-ball brain. A strong, hearty bunch—a few brilliant minds, a few brilliant souls, and of course a few powerful children. There were always a scattering of _bairns_ (1) whose temperament would never incline itself to fulfill their potential. Minds whose power was greater than their desire and less than their want. Still Hogwarts taught all that came to its doors and it was not their place to stifle a chance before it was half-thought. So he saw what was and could be and as was his want he gave them a place where they should be.

He'd existed long enough to know not everyone was created equally even if everyone should have the right to be treated equal. So while he sorted this way and that way he ferreted more than should ever be known of another person. He saw petty hates and jealous desires, ill-wishes and frightened murmurs—things stuffed so far down in the psyche of a child no one would ever know.

Humans as creatures were needful, jealous beings; their good intentions made them more but still, by _want_ they were ruled, by _want_ they were made, and some by _want_ would be destroyed. It was those powerful minds and quick children, whose gifts made them ready to see more of the world than some would ever know, whose _want_ would guide them.

It was these children who he asked, for he did not in fact talk to all of them.

_What do you want?_

"Potter, Harry!"

Ah, another comes.

A curious child; a marked one if truth be told. One who knew of a legacy that was his although he had not yet felt the weight such history could wield, could in fact crush if the child's spirit proved less than desired.

"…_they left me_…"

There was power, oh yes; power had come early to the boy. Less impartial minds would say power had made the child cruel but the Hat saw what no one did, what no one could.

Power had tempered the boy; child of a world were power was key he had fought for the choice to be what he would. In another life, the child would have thrown a tantrum, would have eventually taken his caregiver aside and made his case for what he wanted. But this child had been alone before he'd known what it meant not to be. Not cruel by nature, nurture never having taught the child what it meant to be merciful.

"… _You do not like me…Keep your family in line Petunia…"_

But he was young still.

Great he could be (for the Hat only knew of could-be's never having dealt with would-be's) and for all his serious-mindedness he was still young enough to learn more of the human condition those of his kind had been born with.

Slytherin, he thought for a second before forgetting entirely. Slytherin would make the child great and terrible as never before but…_what do you want?_

…_is this real?_

If hats had eyebrows the Sorting Hat would have let startled bushy eyebrows rise in surprise (for the Hat was the sort that would have bushy eyebrows).

_It's magic, as real as you think magic is._

Silence as the Hat waited, ignoring the impatient tapping of the Deputy-Headmistress because, really, how was a Hat to understand time?

_And what's magic?_

This the Hat knew without knowing as was his nature. _Magic is._

The Sorting Hat sensed the child was dissatisfied with the answer. Curious he waited for something else.

…_What are you?_

_Magic._

Still dissatisfied the child frowned under the floppy brim.

_Then…what am I?_

_Magic_, the reply said unhesitantly

Ah…now the child was disgruntled. Sullen because he did not hear what he wanted.

_No_, the child said sounding for the first time like the voice of the power that settled just beneath the surface. _I am more._

_What are you then?_ The Hat asked.

And now the child was silent.

No mind.

The Sorting Hat knew what it wanted to know.

_There's strength in you, if you can see it. There's power in you, no doubt you will use it. There's wisdom in you, if you choose to heed it. There's compassion in you for the day you can find it. You have still plenty to learn. Let…_

"**RAVENCLAW!"**

…_be the one to teach you. For in the end…_

The child was gone, the echo of cheers and claps drowning out whatever warning the Hat would say.

…_for in the end, this world might not be enough to keep you._

**S**

It was real.

_This_ was real.

And somehow a part of him had known it all along even as his mind still stuttered at the absurdity of it all.

"Potter! A pleasure to meet you." Said a tall, gangly boy; his arm enthusiastically shaking Harry's in return.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw." Said another, broad-smiling and eager-faced.

"It's an honor." Said a girl, whose virtue was beauty and whose vice was power.

"I've read all about you." Sprouted a small girl, hands falling over themselves as if to pet a strange, exotic creature.

And Harry for all his qualms about being stubborn found himself stepping back. It was not his comfort to be surrounded by so many people, not his wish to find himself the subject of their eager prattle.

"Harry!"

He was polite only by necessity and when necessity was greater than the need for politeness Harry had no qualm abdicating the latter.

"Hey!"

"Ow!" Shrieked the beautiful girl, hip painfully slamming the edge of the table.

Undaunted Harry wormed his way through the curious mesh that had felt their presence would be appreciated. Now was not the time to spare sharp elbows their retribution.

And there was Li; dark Patil seated besides her, having been sorted since then.

"We are in the same House." Li said to both Patil and Harry, her excitement hidden under a layer of shyness.

Patil in turn offered her own smile, "It often works that way."

Suddenly serious-faced Li turned to Harry. "So _you _are the famous Harry Potter."

Harry for his part, both because he was proud and still a child, stubbornly stood starring back at her, waiting for what she would say.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Harry Potter."

Letting no emotion betray his thoughts, Harry nodded in turn and sat down. For the first time he let go the nervous tension he hadn't known he'd been caring.

Patil looked like she wanted to say something else but prudence must have swayed her and instead she launched into a humorous tale involving the capsizing of one of the boats behind her.

"Ex—excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?" A freckled-faced boy asked; brown hair, brown eyes and a wide mouth were pale as he ventured forward.

Patil, seeing no one else would speak, glanced at both Li and Harry before answering, "Of course."

"Terry Boot," the boy said before adding somewhat hesitantly, "Mu—Muggle-born?"

"I'm Padma Patil, Pureblood if you're curious." The Indian girl said as way of welcome.

Suddenly wary Boot glanced nervously at them. "May I sit here? I—there were some children…Purebloods…who didn't exactly welcome me to their table."

"It's…fine. Please sit." Patil finally said, seeing neither of her other table companions were going to say anything. "Um…this is Su Li and Harry…Potter."

Boot in his naivety smiled at all of them more than a little hopefully. "So far I've been a little lost. I was on the train with Zachary Smith and Hannah Abbott but both of them made it into Hufflepuff and I don't know anyone else."

"Don't worry about it. There are plenty of people here who don't know anyone else. I only know my sister and the people I met on the train."

Li, smooth-faced and impenetrable, finally spoke. "I as well did not know anyone coming."

Green-eyes flickered in Boot's direction before the boy in question shrugged. Sardonic lips curled, "Everyone knows me."

"Everyone?" Boot asked skeptically, face questioning the two girls.

"Just about." And now Harry had lost interest in the conversation. Up in front the Headmaster, who looked suspiciously like Merlin, waved his hands as he gave a general announcement. "Don't you know? I've seen you Boot. Fairfax."

"Fair...? The Academy! But—but…"

"Shhhh." Patil whispered. "The Headmaster is talking."

"—third floor corridor…"

"And that's going to stop the curious?" Harry muttered as he listened intently to the warnings being given. Mad as Old Mrs. Figg is what he thought.

With a final wave of his wand food appeared. Overflowing, rich and aromatic, the table seemed to groan under the weight.

"Blimey." Boot whispered in surprise.

Harry blinked, determined to keep the yelp of surprise firmly looked in his mouth. "This is certainly something."

"Rather heavy." Li disagreed unhappily.

Patil shrugged at them and prudently began searching for her favorite food.

Hesitantly Harry took a sip from a gold-tinted chalice to his side. It was warm and slightly dry, the smell of pumpkin made soft with whatever other ingredients used. When it was gone his mouth was left tasting of sugar and pie, just sweet enough not to be cloying.

"Pumpkin juice." Li explained, her own eyes peering at the liquid at her side. "I do _not_ like pumpkin juice."

"Neither do I; too sweet." Harry said decidedly, nose wrinkled at the strange drink.

"They always feed us like this?" Boot asked dazedly, hands hovering undecidedly over what plate to attack first.

"It's for the magic." Patil explained. "My father is a Healer in the Augustus-Cyril House of Healing and he warned my sister and me to be sure to always have a snack on hand. Like Muggles we require a certain amount of calories to function but because we're also magical each time we do any magical activity it costs us. I don't know how much you're used to eating but you should expect it to increase a lot. If you aren't careful you'll faint the first time the Professor asks you to hold a Levitation Spell longer than fifteen seconds. That's about how long our reserves will hold out at this stage in our training."

It was rather disconcerting to realize the most logical explanation he'd gotten so far over what magic _was_ had come from an eleven year old girl. He was beginning to think magical training would involve more leaps of faith than logic on a good day.

"Your sister, where was she placed?" Li asked.

"Gryffindor." Patil grimaced lightly. "I'm not sure if it will be the best thing or worst thing about Hogwarts. It's just been us two for so long but it's just us two, you know? I'll either miss her terribly or have the greatest fun doing things on my own."

"You will just have to learn."

And that was when Harry began to think Patil and Li where girls worth knowing.

**S**

"This way! This way! Don't get lost or they'll never find you!" A black-robed boy, a golden _P_ embroidered on his breast called back; a gaggle of first-years dutifully following behind.

Under a moving staircase, through a secret panel on a wall, past a suit of armor with a lady's belt tied as a headband, and across the painting of naughty looking cherub-child who blew raspberry's whenever someone caught its eye. Tap twice on the eighth stone from the bottom and whisper "_Gideon" _to the stone face shadowed to the right where the tourchlight was weak and the shadows strong.

The wall parted, deceptive looking heavy blocks spinning with surprising ease creating a short archway that emptied out into a comfortable looking Common Room, soft blues and grays warming the room despite the never-ending block walls.

"Now," The Prefect said, herding his flock to the center of the room. "This is the Ravenclaw Common Room. You will study, play, laze-about, and tear your hair out come O.W.L. time in this room. Prefect Marcia Kestrel and myself will be available to help you out should you have a question or, Merlin help you, need directions. I know many of you have in mind to explore Hogwarts Castle and grounds but I should warn you should you get lost no one will think to look for you till after curfew and by then it will mean lost points and detention. I want all of you to keep in mind the House Cup and the point system. It's been years since Ravenclaw has won and no one will thank you if you're the one that loses the Cup for us.

"Floo calls are restricted for emergency use only. If you've forgotten something at home I hope you have a fast owl. For those of you who don't know our House sponsor is Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher. You'll meet him tomorrow and he'll also be available if you need to talk to someone. Most likely this is the first time for you away from home and away from your family—don't think about that. This will be your family for the next seven years; by the end of your stay here the boy or girl standing next to you is liable to be your best-friend, husband, or wife.

"I would like to point out Hogwarts' Clubs are listed on the bulletin board. Hogwarts has an excellent Inter-House tutoring program set up; I would advise all of you to stop by as soon as you can. I should warn you Quidditch is restricted to second-year and above but most of the other clubs are open to all years.

"First-year dormitories are the third floor up the stairs. They'll also be the same dormitory you'll occupy for the next two years before we rotate again. Girls to the right, boys to the left, three to a room. Your trunks should already be in there. Restrooms are at the end of the hall—again separate and magically warded to prevent you going where you don't belong. If you need me I'm on the fifth floor room 5A and please remember to set your alarms for seven, breakfast is at eight and your schedules will be handed out by then. Off you go then."

Harry followed the curious feet of his class-mates. Dimensionally it was impossible for a whole other floor to exist just five steps up the stairs but true to form ten steps up a staircase leading to the left revealed a small hallway. The hallway had two doors on either side before ending on a small alcove, a lounge placed beneath a large bay window. The space had the feel of being dark and unused, whatever lingering ghost of the last occupants was long gone and in its place nearly a dozen young children ventured into closed rooms.

Alone, because he hadn't bothered to talk with anyone at length, Harry entered the second door to the right. On the dark wooden door a golden plaque was embedded with three names.

_A. H. Goldstein_

_S. L. Grant II_

_H. J. Potter_

The room itself was just large enough to comfortably contain all three boys. One wall was lined with three beds and across each bed a bureau and desk were clearly marked for the newest ocupant. At one end the door stood and the other another bay window was covered with heavy curtains.

To Harry it was just another trial to overcome. Truthfully he didn't want to sound sullen or childish but he just did _not_ like sharing his space. It was invasive and uncomfortable.

His trunk was propped against the bed closest to the window, still locked for all that it mattered. Crawling onto his covers Harry stared blankly at the star-speckled canopy and wondered if Hogwarts was the right decision.

Nearby footsteps made him turn his head to side, just in time to meet disgruntled blue eyes. Blond hair that had been neatly combed earlier was no ruffled, black robes abandoned and a prim buttoned shirt was halfway out of dark trousers.

"You didn't tell me who you were." Goldstein accused, an offended air practically vibrating around him.

"Did I need to?" Harry returned softly, more than a little tired.

"It wasn't at all polite." Goldstein announced having divined that to be Harry's greatest fault.

Burying his face in his pillow Harry muttered just loud enough for the other boy to hear. "I'm not the one obsessed with _my_ last name."

Even the silence was offended.

A while later, Harry, half-asleep, was roused out of his doze when more footsteps entered the room.

"Anthony Howard Goldstein." A familiar voice introduced himself.

"Is that really _Harry Potter_?" Was the response.

Goldstein paused, no doubt considering the odds of requesting two new roommates.

"Yes." He finally said grudgedly in a tone that seemed to indicate it wasn't exactly a good thing.

"I can't believe I'm sharing a dorm with _Harry Potter_."

"And you are?" Goldstein interrupted pointedly. It wasn't exactly good manners to gossip about someone when they were in the same room with you.

You usually waited till they left.

"Ah…? Oh, Sirius Levant Grant II."

"As in Gillian _Grant_?"

"Great-Uncle Gilly? Sure."

"Oh." Goldstein didn't seem to find that good news either.

Poor boy.

Disgruntled Harry turned on his side; hand simultaneously pulling on the cord to drop his bed-curtains. In the sudden darkness a quiet rumble distracted him. Now just plain bothered Harry cracked open his curtain. In the faint light two black eyes blinked quicksilver.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

If toads were capable of producing puppy-dog eyes this toad would be giving them to Harry. Figuring there where worst things to see besides you Harry fell back; too tired to wonder why a toad was making himself at home on his bed. Chucking off his robe and shirt Harry settled once more. Just as he lost consciousness the steady rumble of the toad hummed a final good-night. And really, after a point it wasn't worth wondering about.

Toads or no toads.

**S**

Grant talked in his sleep.

Sleepy murmurs that were indistinguishable; occasionally 'Mummy or Tummy' and 'want or wall' erupted in a loud snort. He had the habit of flinging his arm to the side and without fail knocking against the side table next to his bed. That would half-rouse him, befuddled and heavy-eyed he'd turn over and go back to sleep.

Goldstein was a restless sleeper.

The covers had long since been abandoned, half on the floor and scrunched up against the bed-corner. One pillow remained clutched to Goldstein's face and the other was halfway across the room. His body had the habit of twisting and contorting, eventually placing his head at the foot of the bed and his feet awkwardly propped up against the headboard.

Harry was a light sleeper.

To his way of thinking the other two boys were in danger of being thrown out of the room. There was only so long one could watch Goldstein migrate from one end of the bed to the other before the minutes till dawn started to multiply—exponentially.

By the time morning came Harry was grumpy. Lips twisted in a sullen pout, eyes flashed their annoyance.

As it turned out Goldstein was also a late sleeper.

Harry was the first up; having gone in search for the restroom to wash the grit from his eyes. He'd abandoned any pretense of returning to the room and proceeded to settle in the hallway alcove, the silence of the early morning giving him about the only useful sleep he'd had all night. Eventually he settled to watch other sleepy-eyed boys stumble from their rooms to the restroom more often than naught bumping into each other. Grant appeared promptly at seven, hands tracing the wall as if he'd forgotten what it meant to see.

Seven thirty came and went; a fresh faced Grant eagerly chatting with another boy. Their backs disappearing into his shared room.

Still Goldstein failed to make an appearance.

Wandering back into the room revealed a Goldstein's blond head huddled under his remaining covers and a mischievous looking Grant pointing at the inside of his truck, his friend snickering quietly.

The unknown boy saw Harry first, guilty face springing away from Grant.

"What's the…oh, uhh, hello." Grant said aimlessly. "I—we weren't introduced last night. I guess I'm your roommate—Sirius Grant."

Green-eyes flickered expectantly to the other boy.

"Eh…Duncan Wayde."

"Potter." Harry introduced himself, one hand pulling his book bag from his trunk while the other dug for the heaviest tome in his arsenal. Harry had the feeling he was never going to find much use for either boy. They were probably great fun to be around but right now they both had a nervous hesitancy that bespoke of more than one Harry Potter bedtime story. At least Goldstein was more interesting.

"Anyway," Grant began more excitedly. "You want to see—!"

_Bang._

Grunting, Goldstein sprung forward. Blind eyes searching for the sound of the bang but all he really saw was a retreating Potter and two befuddled boys. Not exactly a cheery welcome to the world of the living.

"What…What time is it?" Goldstein coughed dryly.

"Eh, 7:52." Wayde supplied helpfully.

"Doesn't breakfast begin at…?"

"Eight." Grant added helpfully.

"Shit. Why didn't you wake me!"

"I was supposed to?" Stunned, the two boys watched as Goldstein picked up last nights wrinkled robe and ran for the restroom.

**S**

The Second Coming was short and irritable.

The Second Coming didn't like curious heads peering at him, whispered pointers not all that discreet as they all speculated over what the lightning-shaped scar looked like.

Not that any one of them would ask Harry Potter to part his shaggy hair and reveal it. Not that Harry Potter was about to indulge whatever fool asked.

"Do you see it?"

"Are _you_ sure it's really real?"

"How big is it anyway?" said someone who no doubt imagined it to be right _there_.

"Are you sure it hasn't faded?"

"Would a cursed-scar fade?"

"He's shorter than I imagined."

_And you're all perfection made real, _Harry snorted, annoyed as he glared at the curious eyes that tried to hold his gaze.

The Second Coming hadn't even known he'd had a First. As far as he cared hadn't wanted to know to begin with.

**S**

They were curious. Harry understood that. He really did. Didn't mean he wasn't about to reveal just how much reign he had over his magic by blasting them _away_.

Bumps and scruffs, a clumsy turn here and a careless wave there.

Touch the Savior and your children won't be born cross-eyed. Catch a Prince and live a Happily Ever After. See the child and watch the legend grow.

Harry sincerely hoped their fascination waned in the coming days. He really did. Harry had never found it easy to forgive. Even pranks made in jest were never quite forgotten as his Academy friends could attest. Maybe it was true and Harry had never gotten in touch with his sense of humor. Either way Harry never forgave his relatives any of their offenses, he never forgave his parents for dying, never forgave any reasonably sane adult that didn't see or want to see enough to save him. His grudges were remembered within him as a list as old as himself and carried in his mind. From the crayon scrawl of a little boy who was told to give up the playground swing to the boyish cursive of a first-year that was being made the main attraction in a decade old spectacle.

Harry didn't forgive very easily.

The Dursleys would say he didn't forgive at all if; that is if they could stop cursing him as a wicked infection upon their lives long enough.

So far Hogwarts was a castle with character but its population wasn't exactly impressing the boy-wizard. Certainly wasn't endearing him to them.

The Great Hall just provided four times as many gawkers.

"Little Asplings should be more wary."

Harry had only time enough to prevent his body from stiffening as cool hands settled on his shoulders. The Slytherin Marcus Flint stood just behind him, face turned to watch the onlookers who were curiously watching back.

"_Vipera Aspis_. Slytherin and their snakes."

"Very good Aspling. Pay attention and look carefully, these are the children of a time nearly ripped in half by war. Blood has long memories and longer reaches. You be best off by knowing not everyone was happy when the Dark Lord fell. You're a smart boy—don't disappoint."

With that Flint was moving, smoothly cutting through the surrounding students and in his wake leaving a wary part. Obviously association with Flint came with a warning.

"Potter, eh, I was meaning to speak to you last night." Boot said as he approached. His nervousness was due to an entirely different reason. One Harry could certainly guess at.

Terrance Boot better known as Terry; second son of Howard T. Boot and Ellen Whittier Boot, heiress to Marshall Whittier, a shipping tycoon. In a way being magical had been the best thing that could have happened to Terry Boot. He was a shy boy by nature made shyer by the expectations his parents had placed on him. It was known—although never said—that the only reason Boot had never been expelled from Fairfax Academy was because of his grandfather's influence. It was common knowledge Marshall Whittier was a hard man to please; it was also common speculation Marshall L. Boot would suffer a nervous breakdown before he turned twenty-one. Not to say Terry Boot wasn't smart, but Boot had a well known habit of freezing during exams and on one memorable occasion fainting on his final exam. Marshall Boot would be the heir of his grandfather, groomed to take his place in the family company. His older sister, Eliza Boot, was a child chess champion and to crux the matter also possessed a unique gift with the piano. Terry Boot by contrast was a mousy boy, shy and slow to laugh. Quite simply, Terry had little of the charisma one needed to compete in such a family. Magic, an off-shot gift from some squib ancestor, had given the boy a place where his grandfather's money could not touch, his mother's expectations could not slide into place, and his siblings gifts could not match.

Magic had been the best thing to happen to the boy.

Despite his hermit-like tenancies the years at Fairfax Academy had managed to impart some social awareness into his thick head. While possessing the distinct ability to distract Harry both Malcolm Wallis and William Graham had also shown a remarkable aptitude in picking up subtext a boy from Harry's background would have been oblivious to. They'd also never been shy in sharing.

"What about it?" Harry had never been good at mixing different aspects of his life. His schooling had never intruded into his home life and his family would be dammed before they intruded where Harry did not want them to. Similarly the Academy had little comparison to a school of Hogwarts caliber and vise versa.

"Just—Just…" Boot swallowed. Harry could have admired the gumption Boot showed by saying something he was obviously reluctant to talk about; that is if he'd been the sort to admire such things.

"What?" There was definitely more harshness in his tone than a second ago.

"Just…I'd appreciate it if…you didn't m-mention anything about my family." Boot was pale and sweaty, no doubt sure that somewhere said family had instantly known their dutiful son was rather tired of them.

Harry looked at Boot for a second. Sighing he rolled his eyes and walked away.

"W-Wait!" Boot made a grab at his hand and was surprised when all he touched was empty air. Startled he stepped away from narrowed emerald eyes; where before they had been placid now they flashed annoyance. And Boot wasn't as brave to think it didn't bother him.

"Get over yourself Boot." Harry glanced around and sat in an empty spot, a tilt of his head motioning Boot to take a seat.

Terry didn't bother to question the command and instantly clamored on the bench.

"Look around you Boot. Anyone here that cares about how many times your family can buy out their family hardly knows the first thing about what your family does. This is a self-contained world, Muggleborn. Those that do come from the outside world don't have the resources to care.

"But you know and you were b-born like them."

"Half-blood." Harry enunciated carefully, as if to a slow child. "I hardly know the first thing about this world even if they say I was born to it. And Boot? I don't really care."

"Oh." The boy paused uncertainly, wondering if he'd been insulted along the way. "Uh, thanks."

Turning to the heavy plates that had appeared on the Ravenclaw table Harry proceeded to ignore the other boy.

And wasn't lucky to be ignored in turn.

His latest bother was in the form of three older students, two boys and a girl from what must have third or fourth year.

"So…_Harry Potter_." One of the boys said, smile broad and eyes mischievous. His tone was heavily exaggerated as if Harry was hard of hearing. Next to him the strawberry-blond girl giggled.

Harry looked at them. Then he decided breakfast was still waiting. Undisturbed by his silence the boy continued.

"We just wanted to ask, you know? But, mate, is it really _there_? Where…You-Know-Who…" The boy finished with a quiet chocking sound. "You know?"

The girl giggled again.

"Don't be shy." The girl implored coyly. Around her nearby students tittered in reaction. "It won't hurt a bit. I'll even hold your hand if you show us."

She was a pretty girl and had Harry been a bit older and a bit more hormonal he would have found himself flushed red in her presence. But he wasn't; at the moment all he saw where three students more curious than he wanted them to be.

The second boy had the presence of mind to be mildly embarrassed by his companions although he seemed content enough to stand in the background.

Harry looked down for a second, deep breath forcibly bringing the calm he would need. Petunia might have been a sixth-rate aunt but she was also a smart woman in her own way. She was a woman who fought with words; who knew how to make honeyed tones hide bitter knives, how to turn sweet compliments into cruel words. She could make a glowing Mrs. Jameson from Number Ten, still alight with joy over her new pearl necklace, notice how the pearls didn't quite match, weren't quite as brilliantly white, had groves where groves did not belong, was only so long in length, had only been bought on sale.

And the boy who looked up was different. Impossibly large green eyes, brilliant in their sincerity, and a grin that made his face young and quick. There was confidence in his shoulders and charisma in his smile. From within the boy Harry looked back, a dark look in his eyes and a mind that would have been called cruel if not for its innocence.

"You know…" Mischievously he leaned in closer, a teasing grin on his lips. "Wouldn't you rather have an autograph?"

"No, uh, no." The first boy smiled in confusion not all certain what to make of the sudden personality shift. "Don't want to bother you."

Pouting Harry placed childish hands on the table, fingers splayed out as he stood up. "You're right; that wouldn't do. How about a picture? I'm sure someone has a camera…"

The boy opened his mouth to talk but Harry cut him off without a thought.

"No, no. That won't do either." Gradually Harry's voice rose in volume till it was clear to anyone that wanted to hear. And plenty were curious to hear what the Boy-Who-Lived had to say. "Then I guess I should just show you the…you know? The _Scar._ I mean it's not like it means anything. Really, I mean it's not like my parents _died_ when I got the Scar…"

Harry leaned in closer to the three students, brightly ignoring the red flush creeping into their cheeks. "…They died before that. But I shouldn't depress you with such sad thoughts. I mean it's not like your parents are dead or anything; not like _He_ wanted _you _dead or anything. Not like anybody's ever stood over you and made the decision to snuff you out like that. Nothing like that. So I guess it should be alright. I mean it doesn't _mean_ anything. Nothing at all. So…do you want to see it?"

The First boy had the look of a trapped rabbit while the girl held watery eyes frozen on some far off point.

"It's not like it's a joke or anything like that." Harry repeated sunnily.

"No!" The boy coughed, pretenting he wasn't inching away from Harry. "We've got to find our schedules. How about another time? Come on Abby."

More than one embarrassed head turned away.

"Isn't that a bit cruel?" Patil ventured as she took a seat, an unknown girl following in her wake.

Harry rolled his eyes, his earlier performance dropping away like an unnecessary skin. "It's logical. They don't say Boy-Who-Lived because it means long life. They say it because it was meant to be just Another-Boy-Who-Died. Just like everyone else died."

Because there was an infant left without anyone to stand between them and war. A baby who didn't know enough to know the spell cast on them was meant to kill. A boy who lived but should have died and because he did not die he had to live with having everyone else suffer that fate. No mummy and daddy to keep you now.

Understandably Patil didn't know what to say to that.

TBC...

**S**

_**AN: So…A bit longer chapter. Let's see if I can keep it up. Thanks for all the reviews. Honestly surprised anyone still thought this story hadn't kicked a misplaced bucked along the way. **_

**_Thanks for the support_**.

(1)bairns—children


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: You know it. I dont own it.**

**S**

"Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley! Did I not in fact prohibit you from setting fireworks in the hallway?"

Two impish boys looked at each other, identical to the last dimple in rounded cheeks. "But Professor McGonagall," they chorused in unison.

"We thought…" One began.

"…that ban only applied last year." The second added.

"You didn't say…"

"…anything about this year."

"It most certainly applies this year and next year and the year after that." The exasperated teacher chided. "If you were looking to be the first to get detention this year, congratulations. Detention, seven, my classroom."

Sweet faces grinned deviously. "Of course Professor…

"…there are only so many records…"

"…we can set in the next five years."

They teacher bit back a sigh and frowned at her wayward charges. "Go to class or you _will_ spend the next week helping Mr. Filch clean the armory."

"Right away Professor McGonagall."

Without fail the two boys gave identical smiles and as one turned and began walking away.

"Those boys will drive me as mad as Sybil." The Professor muttered once before continuing down the increasingly empty hall.

Her footsteps were no more than faint echoes by the time a nearby hanging decided to shiver. Cautiously a dark head peaked out before a small robed body followed.

Harry for his part was finding Hogwarts Castle more fascinating by the minute. For the most part the mob had only hounded him discreetly during breakfast. It was in the halls where one body after another had felt the need to press into his space.

In the crush he'd lost sight of his fellow first-years and had to maneuver quickly out of the overeager hands before he'd found a wall to hug. Except the wall was only pretenting to be a wall and had felt it appropriate to invite him never mind that he'd tumbled into an unused storeroom.

Dusty furniture and a bare fireplace had given no clue to when was the last time the room had invited a living soul in. So he'd explored a bit, knocked on the wall to tell it he wanted to leave and exited into a different hallway from the one he'd been in originally.

So there he was on his first day. Lost in an empty hall, one or two students scurrying to class and with only a faint idea of where he was.

All in all, this being a magic school, Harry figured the day was going alright so far.

Glancing a little self-consciously to see if anyone was in earshot Harry tapped the wall again.

"Little lost. Where's the Herbology classrooms?" He ignored the faint blush on his cheeks and figured the Room that had contributed to getting him lost could at least help him find his way.

Harry waited a moment, feeling foolish for every second he stood there.

It was silly, he admitted.

Not quite that silly, he grinned a second later.

The hanging parted again, revealing an inconspicuous wooden door. Opening it revealed the same dusty room, except this time the opposite wall had a door.

Shrugging Harry continued inward. At least this was bound to be more interesting than wandering the school grounds in search of the illusive Greenhouses. With all the curiosity of an Amazon explorer Harry slid the door open.

Even if he'd been hallway expecting it, it still took him by surprise to find himself staring at an open air hallway. All along the hallway where different Greenhouses, each numerically numbered and paned in glass that glowed under the morning sun. Closing the door behind him Harry patted the door helplessly and murmured a soft, "Thanks."

Harry quickly entered Greenhouse Three, surprised to find himself not the last straggler to enter the classroom. The Greenhouse was a marble in itself; the front was lined with workbenches while the back contained rows and rows of exotic blooms and strange leafy-plants Petunia would never even have thought of including in her garden.

Quickly he settled in an empty workstation, his book bag settling heavily on the table. Despite everyone's fascination with Harry Potter, Harry himself was relieved to find how few people actually knew what he looked like. Without a helpful busybody there to point out the first-year in question most people continued on in whatever general direction they thought he was in.

"Do you mind if we sit here?" A boy asked, a girl to his shoulder and head tilted toward the two empty seats beside Harry.

Harry shrugged.

Taking it as he would the two students sat down, yellow ties proudly proclaiming them as Hufflepuffs.

"Neilan Calder and Elspeth Dunmore. Hufflepuff."

Harry nodded but didn't say anything as he watched the wiry-haired Professor enter the room. She was a short woman, hands rough from a lifetime of digging through soil and a sturdy gray apron wrapped around a dress-like robe, comfortable boots peeking out of her calf-length hem.

"Good morning class. I am Professor Sprout and Merlin willing I will be your instructor for the next five years.

"This class is called Beginner Herbology and I want it understood immediately that magical plants are infinitely more dangerous than those you'd encounter in your mother's garden. I know many of you don't really know what this class entails but that is why I am here to teach you.

"Beginner Herbology deals with the different families most magical plants fall under. We will be studying the conditions needed—because you _will_ find conditions as extreme as blooming once a century to spoors only released during an eclipse—and what properties these plants display in their natural form. As is there nature you will learn what families of plants are useful for healing, for rejuvenation, for divination, which act as stimulants, and which hide the burnt taste of meat.

"We will be studying the plants housed in this greenhouse more in depth. I want it understood the other Greenhouses are strictly out of bounds. They contain plants we won't be studying this year and unless you accidentally want to pull out a plant whose shrieks petrify all those that hear it I suggest you wander no farther than this Greenhouse. Good."

"Now, class open your textbook to page three. Ms…?"

"Turpin, Lisa."

"Ms. Turpin, please begin reading chapter one out loud while the rest of the class follows."

"_Magical Plant Families_." Turpin introduced in a high childish voice. "Most plants fall under twenty-seven families. Students should be aware like in all things—there will be exceptions…"

**S**

"I don't understand." Harry finally said, frown firmly in place as he stared at his class work for what felt the hundredth time.

"What's the matter?" Elspeth Dunmore whispered, one hand propping her head up as she occasionally flipped through her textbook while the other hand scribbled onto her parchment every once in a while.

"I don't understand the _why_."

"'Why' what?" She parroted back.

"Why this and not that. Why does _sospitas nitidus blatta_ rate as a magical healing plant and _aloe barbadensis _does not?"

"Well…the hornbell plant is part of the _Sospitas_ family." Elspeth said hesitantly.

Harry rolled his eyes, perhaps less kind than he meant to be. "I _know_ that. I want to know where magic comes into play."

"I know magical plants are used in potions…" She ventured once more.

"But why are they? I mean what's the difference?"

"Are we having a problem here?" A voice (which might as well have thundered) said from overhead.

Elspeth cringed and even Calder shied away. Standing behind them Professor Sprout peered at them curiously.

"No, ma'am." Elspeth hurriedly assured the Professor.

Harry tilted his head back, challenging eyes seeking an answer. And this, perhaps above all else, was the reason Harry Potter was a Ravenclaw. The young boy didn't promise perfect grades or even complete earnestness in his studies. He had never cared that ten times ten was a hundred or that Hamlet had gone through life tilting from one non-decision to the next.

Harry Potter wanted to know why. He wanted to know why multiplying numbers would increase, wanted to see the physical representation of a ten by ten square yielding a hundred squares. He wanted to know all the neurosis that floated in Hamlet's head. Wanted above else to know why things happened the way they did.

And not even magic would stop him from asking why.

"Yes." Harry said simply. "What makes a magical plant magical? Why are some plants deemed magical and some non-magical? What's the distinction?"

Sprout blinked; she could have smiled for a moment but such things weren't done so if she did Harry wasn't about to think of it.

"That's a very good question Mr…?"

"Potter."

Sprout had the presence of mind to continue without blinking while Harry had the grace to ignore the chattering of Calder's quill as he dropped it on the ground in surprise.

"Mr. Potter." Professor Sprout repeated. "The answer is actually a little heavy on the theoretical side. We don't actually go over this subject in class but I can tell you the popular theory right now is magical plants begin as seeds like all seeds begin. These plants just happen to have properties that are more powerful, react more strongly to each other. These seeds won't flourish in conditions were ambient magic is weak—a fact that has been proven. Just about any place where magical creatures live or have lived, where spells were cast, or wizards have lived present the right environment for ambient magic to have settled into the soil. Now, why some plants are classified as magical and other not is a matter of determining which plants can only flourish in magical environments."

"But by that definition Muggleborns' shouldn't exist…unless they were born near a strong magical point." Harry countered. "And the odds of _that_ given population density and the fact magical children don't spring up in higher concentration in single areas...it doesn't seem probable."

Sprout smiled for real this time. "That's been the theory's weakest point for ages. Some theorists say that all creatures that live are able to tap into life-energy. Muggles only ever touch enough to live while wizards are actually able to manipulate that energy both within them and around them.

"That theory proposes that it is through 'channels' with which we are able to reach magic; the stronger you are the 'better' channel you have. Muggleborns are the result of two people with Squib level channels combining their genetic material. On the other spectrum Squibs are the result of two people, who for whatever reason, genetic material can't support the conduit of their offspring and collapses as a result.

"If you're interested you might want to look up _Falkeys's Code of Magical Theory_ or _Modern Theories for the New Wizard_ by Ursula Crast. Of course most of the information you'll find are theories—mind you, there are some pretty sound theories but there have been little studies done."

She paused, glancing around her Greenhouse and beyond. "Research grants are not easy to come by and precious few patrons have the resources."

"Thank you Professor."

She nodded once, frowning mildly as she realized she'd said more than she meant to. Shrugging it off she smiled one more time at Mr. Potter.

Harry Potter would be just as brilliant as the professors had always speculated; a little more curious than thought but brilliant all the same.

Harry for his part had bowed his head once more. He'd heard more than she'd meant to say. It wasn't hard to notice which children exuded a wasteful air, whose hands had never known the want of another coin. It was easy to listen when purebloods were signaled out and Muggleborns were pointed at. To know who held the money in this world.

Honestly it was eerily similar to his Academy. It hadn't been hard to spot which children worried about what their nannies would tell their parents and which children worried about their scholarships.

Both then and now Harry had known who held the money. But unlike the Academy, there were divisions in Hogwarts that he hadn't foreseen. Would Pureblood and their centuries old legacies really care about what gutter a magical child crept out of?

**S**

"Potter, Harry." The name was said with a low heat that could have been mistaken as interest but wasn't. To Harry the man was sharp in his bearing and words. A curl of his lip was all the warning Harry needed to see to know this man wanted to take his pedestal and prove how flimsy it really was. This man saw an image, the other side of the spectrum that catered to a child-Prince. A man who would also act accordingly.

And unfortunately for Harry, this man was also his Professor.

"Tell me Mr. Potter, what is the main ingredient used in the Pepper-up potion?"

The answer was a little dusty in his mind but there all the same. One of the magical plants whose existence Harry still found dubious.

"The minced leaves of _navitas ignis tavus_, common name Wyrve's web."

The man's expression soured.

"We certainly can see how a Potter finally managed to get into Ravenclaw. Now, what is gillyweed and where can it be found?"

Harry stared at the man for a second, a distant answer no doubt drifting a little petulantly through his mind. Instead the boy turned a bland expression at the man, "I don't know."

"Humm." The man practically purred. "Clearly fame isn't everything Mr. Potter—pity. That will be five points from Ravenclaw for not coming prepared to class.

"Gillyweed is a fresh-water magical plant found twenty-feet below still-water lakes. It blooms from May to August and is only ever useful when picked at the end of October. When ingested it allows a person to temporarily breathe underwater. It reacts strongly to copper and will only ever be used sparingly since it has a tendency to…explode."

The man paused, critical eyes sweeping over his class and settling disgruntledly on Harry. "Well? Why aren't you writing this?"

And that was how Harry learned he would have to bring out a mask for the man. Because Professor Severus Snape wanted a spoiled brat just as much as his wandering fan group wanted to glimpse his scar—perhaps more. But unlike them, Snape had the power to make Harry miserable and that was one thing Harry would not allow.

If Snape wanted a dunderhead, a useless child to drum information into so he could say he had _tried_ and still fame wasn't _everything_ then Harry would oblige. He'd played greater acts for lesser men than him. And if Snape never saw past the act he gave then he was a more foolish man than Harry had thought.

It was foolish to believe the illusions of others; it was just plain stupid to believe your own.

"Merlin." His lab-partner whispered; a soft-faced boy with spike brown tuffs of brown hair sticking every which way.

Somehow Harry didn't think the sympathy was entirely undeserved.

**S**

"Shiva help her if she comes to me one more time with Gryffindor on her mouth." Patil fumed fiercely.

From their position on the ground Li and Harry looked up. They'd taken the advice of some of their older housemates and decided to spend the afternoon outside. Before they knew it winter would be upon them and it would be ages before the inhabitants of Hogwarts would again enjoy the outside air.

"What did she say this time?" Li asked, obviously familiar with this line of conversation.

"'_Oh Padma, it would have so much fun if you'd been sorted into Gryffindor. You wouldn't have to spend so much time with your stuffy books_.' And that's not even saying anything about Lavender Brown."

Flustered Padma dropped her school bag and landed on the ground with a soft thud. "I don't know if I want to strangle her whenever she brings up Gryffindor or cry when she talks about her new best friend."

"Give it time, things will settle down eventually."

"I can hope." Padma mopped. "Anyway I don't want to talk about anything unpleasant. What are you two doing?"

"Enjoying the day." Harry answered and Padma smiled brilliantly. It occurred to him he hadn't exactly sought the girl out and because he'd never been the sort to think of people he'd never realized it would bother her.

Besides her sister she knew best the three other people that shared her train compartment. Of all of them she was probably most comfortable with the only other girl and that girl had taken in mind to spend the afternoon with Harry.

For his part he liked Li for her quiet silence. There were plenty of people that were the sort to talk but very few with which one could sit in silence without feeling awkward. Padma even if she couldn't hold her silence was a smart girl—stupidity being the worst trait Harry could think about. She had it in her to be a person Harry could come to enjoy spending time with, not that he would ever say as much.

"So is everyone…"Li murmured, eyes tracking the groups of students that shifted around trees and down by the lake.

"What do you think about the Houses?" Harry asked abruptly.

Padma's brow furrowed as she tried to answer as best as she could, "It's something that holds you together…I mean with your other Housemates. Like tradition being continued."

Li was no where near as diplomatic, "Everyone is what it is and for everyone there is something. Ravenclaw, home of the boring bookworms who think about nothing but their marks. Gryffindors who are brave, noble, and stupid unto themselves. Hufflepuff, loyal and simple without ambition. And Slytherin, treacherous and if it was to be believed a dark follower every single one of them."

"No one is exactly knocking on your door trying to be your friend?"

"Just about." Padma agreed. "No one in the Upper years really talks outside their House and all the other first-years haven't a clue but to follow their example. My sister won't come to the Ravenclaw Common Room because she says it will look odd."

Harry nodded vaguely but his focus had already wandered.

Down by the lake under a large tree, a prime spot to lounge—just close enough to enjoy the cool lake breeze and far enough to avoid annoying insects—a small group chattered. There wasn't anything in particular that called attention to them; in a sea of black robes they blended in seamlessly. Except every one of them wore green and silver ties, their House calling giving them a wide berth. They were older than Harry—third or fourth year students.

And they were completely unaware of two red-haired heads shifting in and out of some sort of invisibility charm. The red-heads weren't all that good at the charm since it kept flickering in and out but it was done so smoothly and slowly no one noticed. The spell looked awkward to Harry who felt the discord without meaning to—and to his mind it was unpleasant even if it roused his curiosity all the same.

A second later Padma and Li were looking up as well, close enough to hear the horrified shrieks and far enough not to make out any words.

Two girls ran past them, hands waving frantically in the air and faces flushed. Three boys quickly followed, one coughing as he tried to gag the stench out of his system. They stopped a few meters in front of Harry's group and faced the way they came. Harry didn't miss how the three scanned the watching crowd, no doubt taking note of who looked a little too gleeful.

"Oh dear." Padma muttered, picking up the odor that clung to the boys even from her spot. Whatever gag had been sprung came with a longer shelf-life than suspected.

"That is strong." Li commented, a treacherous breeze putting them downwind of the boys.

And unfortunately for them the boys heard. The middle one whirled around, a heavy scowl marring an almost angelic face. "Think this is funny?"

Padma and Li shared uneasy glances; slowly they stood and didn't even blanch when two of the boys brought their wands out.

"We didn't mean anything by it." Padma tried to smooth things over.

"Bet you and your little friends were having a nice little laugh over the nasty Slytherins." A second boy sneered, dark auburn hair shaggy over almond gray eyes.

"We did not mean anything by it." Li repeated more firmly.

From the ground Harry looked up at them, lidded eyes betraying not a care in the world.

Had Albus Dumbledore looked out the window at that moment he would have been disturbed by the similarities presented between this child and another terribly brilliant boy. There had been another boy, so popular and so smart some would remember, who had danced with the same lazy confidence in his bones. And even if the other boy had known more spells than some of the professors when he'd graduated and _this_ boy hadn't even uttered a _Wingardium Leviosa,_ they still both exuded an undeniable power. Ever-flowing, ever-present, clinging just beneath their skin.

"And what," Harry asked, "exactly are you going to do to us?"

The look the angelic blond shot him was foul enough to make it clear there was plenty in store for their lot.

"Yes," Harry assured in (to them) a remarkably blasé tone. "What exactly are you going to do to three first-years that can't even cast a spell between them? Not to mention in front of about half the school."

And then he smiled a smile that wasn't one for all that it imitated. "I'm quite a screamer if you feel the whole school should come and watch."

"You snot-nosed little brat." Auburn-haired cursed. "Do you really think we won't find you in some dark hallway? This is a large school and you brats are quite small."

Padma and Li shifted uncomfortably but seeing as how both felt the urge to bolt was justified neither wanted to add to the unpleasant scene by saying something.

"I've no doubt." Harry paused, mind rapidly calculating the best way to play this. You don't give bullies meek targets—you make them so confused it's never quite as fun to go after them. "Patil, Li—don't you have a library to find?"

The hint wasn't lost on either girl but despite that neither moved, two pairs of disapproving eyes flickering to the first-year Ravenclaw.

Honestly, he thought. Loyalty and such a wide messy gamut of emotions to filter through.

"Please." Harry said a little more plainly.

"Sending away your little playmates won't save you." The blond-haired one commented, having regained his composure and the presence of mind to tuck his wand into the folds of his sleeve.

"If you say so. Still, do you really want to try anything right now?" Harry didn't glance at the girls as they disappeared into the crowd, not lucky enough to think they wouldn't scold him later.

"You're stupid if you think we'll forget about you." One assured Harry.

Harry shrugged, cold eyes flickering up and down the boys in a dismissive manner. "What does it matter? You'll still be the one chasing me."

That was the first time the blond boy, angelic sky-eyes narrowed, had thought to be wary of the urchin they'd so far harassed. He was a Maltair and while his family line went back quite a way they'd never had the distinction of breaking into the circle of Families, the ones decadent in their wealth and powerful in their business. With so many first-years it was hard keeping track of which children belonged to what Clan. Merlin forbid he threaten a boy whose dear daddy could have his family's business with a flick of a wand.

"And just who are you?" The third boy asked, a little more crudely than his blond companion would have hoped having reconsidered the whole scene.

Harry gave him his not-smile.

No one there mistook it for anything friendly.

"Dement, Maltair, Hyes—you reek." The statement was frank and short, the tone cold and chiding, and the boy who uttered them not at all amused.

"Flint." One of them greeted grudgedly and rather weakly.

"It's hardly appropriate to be wandering around while smelling like the high heavens. A change of clothing would be more than welcome." The suggestion gave little leeway.

"Of course Flint." Auburn-Hair—who was Dement—agreed rather tightly.

Having dismissed the boys from his mind Flint turned to Harry and inclined his head back to the school. "Walk with me Potter."

The three boys didn't dare move till Flint and Potter had where halfway up to the school.

"Oh shit." Hyes breathed.

"He's just a ruddy midget." Dement snapped.

Maltair sighed, "Said the Dark Lord before he cast the Killing Curse."

"Forget it," Dement finally said, "Lets just go back to our dorm."

"Mates…? Is it me or are we a couple inches into the ground?"

Maltair tugged at his legs uselessly; his fine dragonskin boots firmly embedded up to his ankle, the surrounding ground completely undisturbed. Honestly perplexed at how the ground could have swallowed him up.

"It's not just you." Dement grounded out through clenched teeth.

**S**

"You're hardly in any position to antagonize anyone Aspling." Flint said quite frankly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Like it matters all that much. If they go after me they would have done it to begin with. You don't think there aren't people wandering around dreaming about taking _Harry Potter_ down a peg or two."

"It's still very foolish of you. What can you do against those three? Maltair is a brilliant Charms student and all three are silly enough to goad each other to come after you. Don't expect me to be around next time—I don't make it a habit of saving first-years, not even those from my own House."

"_Hogwarts: A History_ says Sytherins are supposed to be cunning. How does that apply to cursing a first-year in front of the school and a few meters from a very cranky Groundskeeper blowing his top?"

"You're only clever if you can walk away and they can't. Filch is a Squib if I ever saw one and all three are quite capable of casting a Silencing Charm."

"Still," Harry defended his increasingly not-to-brilliant plan. "What ever would become of three nasty Slytherins attacking Harry Potter?"

Despite himself Flint gave the younger boy a rueful grin.

"Very good Aspling, but that will only work for so long. You know, I don't think I agree with your Sorting—you are certainly Slytherin through and through. I haven't figured out what Ravenclaw makes out of you but it must be brilliant if it meant you didn't become a one of us."

Harry shrugged, not at all inclined to share theories.

"I'm told the Sorting is a private affair."

"First time I've heard that." Flint retorted.

"Really? Imagine that."

And still Marcus Flint couldn't find it in himself to curve his amusement.

This was quick and silent cleverness he could appreciate. It wasn't to say he hadn't spotted other clever minds in his House or even in first-year, but it took practice to refine a position of power. Malfoy, the snot-nosed brat, already knew he had power not the least of which because his father was on Hogwarts' Board of Governors. But that power was blunt and wasted, spend threatening the other first-years into following him like lost ducklings.

"Take care Aspling." Flint finally said as he turned away when they reached one of the Castle gates.

Not in much of hurry to be anywhere Harry turned to look back across the school grounds. Plenty of people still milled about; an inconspicuous trio sitting rather morosely with their robes spread out about them. He could just imagine their disgruntlement.

Unnoticed to anyone Harry's fingers twitched a slight motion insignificant to anyone that would see it. A second later three suspicious boys practically bolted from their spot and huddled warily as they quickly walked back to the Castle.

This was Harry's power.

The culmination of years of unexplainable outburst. Water, Air, Fire, and Earth—all elements that could be manipulated from one state to the next. From water to ice to vapor—it was the rearranging of molecules from one state of excitement to the other. If he had thought that would be enough to prepare him for magical training he was sadly mistaken. What did ice crystals have to do with Silencing Charms?

He supposed the only way to create a Silencing spell would be through a vacuum…Hold the air in place on one side and on the other while nothing is left in a miniscule slot of vacuum. It was something he'd never thought about and something he'd have to look into.

He let his musings drift through his mind, careful to keep an eye on the unsavory trio as they made their way through another Gate. It would do nothing to their pride if they met Harry so soon after. Even he couldn't predict how much goading they would need to lose common sense and prideful children rarely took humility well.

A couple more students drifted by, completely uncaring about the little first-years leaning against one of the worn gargoyles scattered about.

Harry had been waiting for them for no other reason then he didn't have anything else to do.

"You two." Harry called out when they were close enough to hear. Unconcerned they ambled along toward him.

"Gred…"

"…and Forge Weasley..."

"…at your service."

"I'm sure. Anyway your invisibility spell or charm—whatever it was—was shoddy. It kept fluctuating."

Both twins traded a silent glance.

"Well brother mine…"

"…I think we've been found out."

"Most definitely." They chorused.

Harry resisted the urge to do anything but lift an amused eyebrow.

"Don't worry…"One assured him.

"…we won't go after the Upper Years…"

"… till we've gotten it down."

"If you're volunteering we're always looking for first-years…"

"…to practice on. It'll be great fun."

"What he said."

"Why thank you Gred."

"You're welcome Forge."

Harry looked away, an unwilling grin creeping on his face. They reminded him so much of Malcolm and William. "No thanks. You were lucky no one saw you this time."

"Well _No-One_, thank you for your advice…"

"…feel free to track us down if you…"

"…want to do a little Charm experimentation…"

"…in the interest of bettering wizard-kind."

"Tempting offer but since I suspect you'll be doing the experimentation and me the experiment I'll have to say no."

The twins sighed tragically. "Well the offers still open."

"And now we must depart my clever friend…"

"…we've an older brother in need of some cheering up."

"Such a serious fellow he is."

"See you around mate." They chorused.

Harry shook his head ruefully at them, fully knowing he was amused.

Their bright red hair was distinctive and not the first time he'd seen it. An older boy he was sure and perhaps another first-year had the same loud color. A large family or at least an extended one.

Despite himself a curious envy touched him. Dudley and Harry might have grown up together but there was no mistaking the fact they were both fell into the category of 'only child'. A sibling might have made the world of difference to Harry; to know he wasn't alone.

_It might have been nice_, was as close as Harry was willing to think about the matter.

**S**

"No! No! _Win_gar_dium Le_vio_sa_." A bushy-haired girl erupted from across the room, correcting her sour faced companions.

All around him feathers were in various stages of mistreatment. A few had exploded, a couple had crackled once before disintegrating, and in one memorable occasion the feather had literally crawled off the desk, across the floor, and even now was still hiding beneath a large cabinet, ignoring its pleading student. And of course there were always ones that stubbornly refused to levitate much less anything else.

Scowling, Harry glared at his stubborn feather.

Harry knew he was no dunderhead. He'd listened, made note of everything said, already read the relevant chapter the night before. Frankly he wasn't used to _not getting it_. And it was making him more sullen than he'd care to admit.

Besides him Li was on her third feather, the first two having disintegrated completely. She was red-faced with concentration, her feather twitching as if trying to decide if levitating was something it wanted. On his other side Padma was facing a similar problem to his—or was. Abruptly half the feather sat up and if it had legs Harry had the feeling it would have started walking.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" Harry said again, a perfect imitation of the intonation done by their Charms Professor, syllable to syllable.

And still nothing happened.

Irrationally Harry wanted to say it wasn't fair; or perhaps it was more fitting than he wanted.

He'd liked his morning class. Transfiguration for all its airs was something he'd understood intuitively. The rearrangement of molecules, the manipulation of the physical world. A matchstick into a nettle was the leap from wood to metal—both products of the Earth and Earth had always been the most malleable of elements to manipulate; for Harry it was right after Water and near enough to Air. Fire was more wild than structural and never a good thing to play with, especially since Harry couldn't even control a cantle-wick worth of it.

He'd been the first to succeed in their earlier assignment—a fact he enjoyed immensely. It was karma that he end up the last to understand the Levitation Charm. Still, it wasn't worth angsting about it when not even half the class had succeeded in anything much.

"Very good Ms. Granger! Five points to Gryffindor."

Across the room a feather floated serenely.

Harry just scowled more severely at his own feather which still refused to cooperate. Next to him Li's feather gave one last twitch before disintegrating completely.

It was things like this that were liable to drive him mad, Harry thought sullenly. He hated being _not right_.

TBC….

Review! It makes me happy and a happy writer is nice to you.

**S**

**_AN_**_: I finally figured it out! I suspect I stopped this story earlier this year because I really didn't know where it was going. (Ironically that's why RoP is still on hold.) I got the idea now—I'm just afraid it will be a tat different, okay—maybe a lot different. _

_Anyway I apologize for my Chinese/Japanese error. I didn't think people would read more into it. I know several people's reviews told me what father was in Japanese but I don't know if I saw Chinese. Help?_

_**About this story**: To my way of thinking my (AU) Harry has a thing with admitting he has friends—hopefully he'll learn. Hopefully this chapter has shown why Harry is Ravenclaw. _

_Accidental magic taught him control but because he didn't exactly know what to do with it the best he could do was manipulate the natural world. _

_I'll give you a spoiler right now—Charms are going to be a cause for frustration. _

_And Harry is very much Muggle-raised. Magic is fascinating and powerful but my mention of untrained Muggleborns was just meant to point out magic is still very much 'evil witchcraft'. Like I mentioned before how many parents are going to let their kids go into a world where they as parents are practically powerless and if they're perspective enough to see a joke. All they need to do is read a recent history book to find it's only been ten years since their wholesome child would have been a hit on a Dark Lord's agenda. Frankly if I had a kid I wouldn't let them go into that situation not to say I wouldn't look for different options. _

_But that's the point of fanfiction—I want to explore a different outlook. _

_I can tell you that what I plan to do with the events of first years are going to be quite different. At least I haven't seen it before. _

_Till next time. _

_Ciao_


	6. Chapter 6

**S**

_Potter, James Andrew. _

_b. December 21, 1959_

_d. October 31, 1981_

Twenty-two years old and so hopelessly young. What did that _boy_, only eleven years older than his living son, know about war and death? What did that _father_ think would happen to his orphaned child? Did he even think?

_House: Gryffindor_

_Favorite subject: Transfiguration_

"_Mr. Potter certainly has talent that will take him far."—Prof. M. McGonagall_

_Favorite Hogwarts memory:_

"_Sorry—if I told you my grandkids will still be serving my detention."_

_Best friends: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew._

_Future Plans: Marry Lily before she has time to rethink and join the Auror Academy._

He didn't know when they married but by all rights they would have had less than three years before they'd both be dead.

He saw them. For the first time in his life he saw a picture of his parents, so young and so carefree. Their Wizarding pictures waved to each other; giggled at some long-forgotten joke and blew raspberries back at him.

He looked very much like Harry if he was honest with himself. Every once in a while James Potter would run his hand through the same black hair and leave it a wild tangle—not quite like Harry's meticulous hairstyle. They had the same aristocratic bone structure if one was to believe the generations of Purebloods behind James Potter, the same pointed chin. But that's where the similarities ended. Harry watched his father's memory laugh and thought that boy looked like one who had never known _want_, never known what it meant to lose.

_Evans, Lily Camille_

_b. June 21, 1960_

_d. October 31, 1981_

Beautifully awkward, Harry thought. She was as gangly as her sister Petunia but that's were the similarities ended. Lily, he decided, had a kind face. Soft red hair was lit gently in her Wizarding picture, a sweet smile making her sharp features and almond eyes beautiful in a way simple beauty could not compare.

_House: Gryffindor_

_Special Honors: Head Girl 1977-76, Prefect 1976-74_

_Favorite subject: Charms_

"_Ms. Evans understanding of Charms theory is ahead of her age. We can expect great things from her."—Prof. F. Flitwick_

_Favorite Hogwarts Memory: "The first time I saw the Great Hall…it was beautiful."_

_Best Friends: Marissa Clearwater and Eneida Ross_

_Future Plans: Become an intern for Professor Highguard at the Institute of Magic._

Lily wasn't even twenty-two at the time of her death.

How curious, Harry thought, that these two young fools would garner the attention of a man who'd already been waging an extensive campaign for nearly five years by the time they graduated. What kind of threat were an Auror and a Charms intern to a man who held a whole world in its fear? What was so special about the Potter Family that Voldemort would personally see to their execution?

Curious and Curiouser.

On impulse Harry flipped back to the beginning of _Hogwarts: A Yearbook, Class of 1976-1977. _A quick scan of the faculty served to confirm many things, among them just how long these wizards had been minding the Castle.

"Ma'am?" Harry called out quietly, nervously biting his lip.

"Yes?" She was a short woman, old fashioned dress buttoned up and her salt and pepper hair was carefully pinned to the top of her head in a bun. Large spectacles tangled from a silver chain and a thin mouth was pressed down rather severely.

"Ma'am…are you Madam Pince?"

The librarian, who'd been a librarian long enough that no one was quite sure when she'd joined the staff, nodded calmly. "I am; do you need help finding a book?"

"Well no, it's just that I was looking at this yearbook and I noticed you were the Librarian back then. It's just…I don't really know much about my parents and I thought if you weren't busy you might be able to tell me something firsthand. I noticed how often we need the Library to complete our homework and I just thought you might remember them."

Madam Gertrude Pince was rarely surprised by what she'd heard after so long at Hogwarts but even she didn't know what to think at the strange request. "Mr. Potter, surely I'm not the best person to learn about your parents. I didn't know them all that well."

Harry bowed his head in disappointment, straight hair parting to reveal pleading emerald eyes. The picture perfect timid orphan. "But I bet, ma'am, that you remember where every book in the Library is; I'm sure you remember something about them. They died when I was so little and it's a bit awkward asking people about them."

Madam Pince could only stare rather helplessly at the small student. He was so young to have been made an orphan, she thought. Even she, whose dear mother had been dead nearly thirteen years at the ripe age of 143 still missed the woman.

And Madam Pince did something she had never done with another student.

She sat down.

"Very well, child; mind you I didn't know them all that well but I have watched over this Library for close to forty years and most everything that happens here I know. Ms. Evans, now, she was an eager child I remember; the first in her class to find the library. Always so curious, always so eager to know what else there was out there. Nothing like your father, the little hellion that he was. He was trouble and more trouble because he was such a charmer—only reason I let him back in my Library after suspending him from this side of the Castle three different times. But they were good children; such good children…." She sighed.

Harry for his part sat forward as he listened to Madam Pince and what his parents had been like through the eyes of the woman. She was a sharp woman, he deduced immediately, sharp to see everything that happened in her domain.

So Harry sat there and listened. And for the first time he learned about James Potter and his prankster friends and his cocky ways; about Lily Evans and her Muggleborn fights and her brilliant talent; about Sirius Black and his rivalry with a young Severus Snape; about Remus Lupin and his sickly family; about the shadows of war cast over the children of the time.

He learned about scandal after scandal that dogged that generation; about the fiery courtship between James and Lily; the suspicious holiday death of young Regulus Black; about Sirius Black running away from his formidable family; about the deadly attack on the elder Potters; about the sudden death of old Mrs. Pettigrew.

And finally he learned what little she knew about the time after they graduated. About the Fidelus Charm Lily herself had researched; about their frequent meetings with the Headmaster; about the importance of a Secret Keeper; and lastly about the death of Peter Pettigrew and the incarceration of Sirius Black.

_Well…damn_.

**S**

"Again Mr. Potter." Flitwick repeated wearily.

Frankly the half-human half-dwarf was worried. Filius Flitwick had been a Hogwarts instructor for close to twenty years and never in his time there had he encountered a student who had failed to perform the Levitation Charm. It was simply…not conceivable.

_Wingardium Leviosa_ was a low-level spell, its structural arithmetry as simple as one plus one...actually it was more like one minus one. Not to mention the magic needed to float a feather was perfectly in the parameters of a first-year. It was simply…not conceivable.

"Perhaps we should stop for the day. Dinner will begin soon and I'm sure you have plenty of assignments to finish."

"Thank you Professor." The boy said as he quietly packed up his books. The dark-haired child didn't say anything else as he slipped out of the classroom.

Alone now, Filius sighed.

It was simply not conceivable.

Eight-seven year old Filius didn't know what to think and that in its self was rare. There where few people who were more qualified to judge than he in matters such as this. Charms were his life.

In his youth Filius had been wild and angry over the mixed blood in his veins and by no means under the control of his single mother. He'd been a reckless boy in school and an even more impulsive child upon graduation. It was a wonder Master Dharz had even thought for a moment that the wild boy could be trained into one day becoming a Champion Dueler.

But Master Dharz had always been one to see talent. His apprenticeship was one of the fondest times in his life. For some twenty-three years Filius had traveled the Dueling Circuits, in his time winning more than seven titles and regularly competing against the best of the best.

Had he wanted to Filius could have retired comfortably. However in his many years Filius had discovered a passion that burned even more brightly than his love for Dueling. Charms were in his blood now. He was forty-nine at the time of his second apprenticeship to Master Garioux.

After his _Mastery of Charms_ Filius worked in various experimental departments and a few publicly funded research facilities before teaching at Irving School of Magic for five years. When his old alma mater had lost their Charms Professor, Dumbledore had taken the chance to offer Filius the job. He'd seen the Levitation Charm bungled in every possible way and had in fact seen several students who struggled months before performing the charm. But none of them had been inheritably powerful to begin with. Even Mr. Longbottom who looked like he would suffer a stroke when asked to perform the charm had done it successfully.

He didn't know why after nearly two months Harry Potter still couldn't even make his feather twitch.

Frankly, it worried him.

**S**

The halls were empty when Harry walked back to his Common Room. Most everyone was in the Great Hall no doubt enjoying dinner. Harry for his part was in no such humor to appreciate much less eat the much lauded Halloween feast.

Harry was a smart boy—he didn't delude himself into thinking otherwise. He saw things differently than many his age and while some might say he was an old soul in a young body Harry called himself pragmatic. And if Flitwick was worried then Harry was just plain troubled.

Some might say Harry had grown arrogant because he always accomplished what he wanted. But then again not many people understood him and even less knew him for what he truly was.

Perfect marks in tests were battles Harry had never considered important. Proof of merit and outside praise were incentives that were at one time foreign enough he'd never known what to do with them. The one thing he did want was to understand.

And it _pissed him off_ to fail so spectacularly.

Well, to be fair more than half the students still regularly shot their feather clear into the ceiling. But still Harry could do nothing. It was as frustrating as it was perplexing. On one side Charms was as useless as his cousin Dudley playing his ill-fated often-ignored piano. On the other hand Transfiguration came to him with suspicious ease, one that was starting to attract unwelcome attention. If he was truly a wizard like them, why could he change one thing into another but couldn't bewitch and bespell a thing as simple as a feather?

He considered the circumstances and thought the _terrible thought_ no one was even willing to entertain.

What if the Killing Curse had done more than scar him? He might not have appreciated the events surrounding his survival but he understood its practical implications. A curse—a malevolent energy—that had no shield or defense had been _deflected._ Even stranger it had been rebounded upon its caster; a man so terrible and so powerful his name was still feared even a decade after his banishment.

Such a convoluted mess.

**S**

The shriek echoed again. Loud and frightened and so very alone as it rebounded through the empty hallway. And Harry found himself with the ill-luck to be the only one around. It wasn't like he could pretend he didn't hear that scream originating from the girl's restroom just two meters in front of him.

So he peaked into the restroom.

The first thing he registered was the smell. Stale and putrid all at once. It was rotting sweat and decomposing matter rolled into one and came with the awful sensation of trying to claw its way down his throat. The next thing he saw was one of the strangest things yet. An ugly beast close to nine feet tall bellowed as he swung an impressive club at a neat row of restroom stalls. Hurriedly scurrying away was a small bushy-haired girl covered in flyaway debris.

_Right._ Like Harry was going to dash in there against that monster of a beast.

The girl screamed again and he finally recognized her. Gryffindor Granger—a Muggleborn and an annoying one at that. A stupid one too by the looks of it; the silly girl was now hiding under the sinks, her body practically plastered against the wall.

"Girl!" He hissed. "Come on; get out of there."

She gave him one wide-eyed look but didn't otherwise move. Another shriek as a sink was crushed had her still sporting that glassy terrified look.

Annoyed, Harry huffed. The girl was dammed if she thought he was going in there.

By then most of the floor was a watery mess, exploded toilets having liberally gushed out water through broken pipes. Harry twisted his fingers in concentration and a second later the very floor became treacherous in its slickness. The monster swung his club upward and momentum being the heckler she was swung him against the broken stalls.

"Girl! Come one!" Really, how hard was it to crawl out as that monster tried to haul himself from among the broken mess that was once stalls?

"H-Help me!" She finally stuttered.

And really, since when did Harry oblige anyone?

"So were they right Granger? Were they right about people like you—Muggleborn? You don't really belong here if you can't even crawl out of a restroom."

The girl had the presence of mind to gape at Harry. For his part Harry remembered what others said when they thought they were alone; had seen the very same girl as she was pushed around by a pale-haired brat. Had seen the flush of anger such a well-mannered girl would never think of releasing.

"Are they right then? Are you too much a _Muggle_ to ever be a _Witch_?"

Granger shrieked again as the ill-fated monster, having not learned the first time, tried his luck again as he swung his club. And unfortunately for her, this time the monster crashed sloppily on the floor, cutting her escape route—had she ever found the initiative.

"Are you a Witch or aren't you?" Harry prodded for the last time. Whatever rumored Gryffindor spirit lauded so highly certainly wasn't rearing its head. Expectantly Harry waited for her to snap out of her stupor because truthfully there was very little he would do for her. It was dinner and anyone capable of sending the monster home was at the Halloween feast. In situations like this, one first-year was no better than two first-years.

She was angry and scared, a volatile combination. So when she swung her wand up the monster parroted her, club high in the air as he tried his luck for the third time.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

And there was the Witch. The monster stared dumbly at the floating club. He must have been quite mystified as it came crashing down, bonking him soundly on his skull.

Shaking the girl crawled out, wavering feet finally taking her weight. Harry watched her curiously, studying her pale face and watery eyes. She was crying, silently, messily, and probably quite oblivious to the fact she was crying.

"Why…Why didn't you help me?"

Harry cocked his head to the side, studying her intently. "And done what? What do I know that you don't?"

"But…" She sniffed loudly. "I've read about you. You-you're the Boy-Who-Lived."

"And that means what? Why should I stand in front of a monster that you couldn't? Since when did your life mean more than mine? And since when could you ask for that life?"

Thankfully she was quieting down, "Why…why did you say all those awful things?"

Harry huffed, eyes glancing at the still empty halls. "You seem to have read a lot of things about me; did it say anywhere that I was a nice person or were you just hoping?"

Granger flinched, not as dazed as to have missed his biting tone.

"Listen Granger, I'm Harry James Potter; that's who I've been for the last eleven years and that's all I am. This Boy-Who-Lived garbage is just a funny way of saying someone meant to kill me. I'm not anyone's Savior; I've never done anything thinking it would mean mankind would be better off for it and I don't particularly plan to. So, why should I save you if you can't save yourself? What makes you think its my responsibility to do anything?"

Her tears had finally calmed, "You're not at all like the books say you are."

His mocking laughter surprised her. "Girl, what exactly can books tell you about an eleven year old boy? Go to your dorm before the monster takes it in mind to wake."

"It's a troll." She corrected him automatically.

"Then a troll it is."

She began walking before she stopped and informed him rather acerbically, "And my name is Hermione."

Perhaps there was some Gryffindor in the girl.

**S**

"Harry! Thank goodness you're here. You weren't at the Feast and then Professor Quirrell said a troll had entered the Castle." Padma immediately babbled the second he stepped into their Common Room. Behind her Li hovered and even Goldstein and Grant glanced at him worriedly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm fine; I didn't know about the troll but I made it back safe and sound."

"Well excuse us for being worried," Padma retorted before huffing back to her seat, all the meanwhile muttering about reckless boys. Once Padma had learned to ignore his reticence the girl had become a lot more outspoken.

Li merely smiled softly at him before leading him back to their usual spot in the Common Room. It was a little out of the way and not nearly close enough to the fire but they were first years to begin with; they were usually at the bottom of _any_ ladder.

"It was brilliant," Goldstein deigned to inform Harry. "Quirrell up and fainted and everyone practically stamped their way out. Course they locked us up for the night but I bet it would be bloody brilliant to see a real troll."

Padma rolled her eyes. "And I'm sure you could have taken it down single-handedly. A 'swish and flick' is all that you need."

"I never said I could." Goldstein retorted.

"Certainly sounded like it." Padma goaded.

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

Harry shook his head slightly, resigned to the escalating argument. He didn't really care to get involved.

"Oh hush," Grant unexpectedly interrupted. "We're better off working on our Potion's essay. Professor Snape is going to be absolutely horrible tomorrow."

All around the coffee table like-minded first-years grimaced. Their little corner of the Common Room was situated a bit awkwardly. It was smashed up against a three sided corner but it fit enough people for Harry, Padma, Li, Goldstein and two of his rather quiet friends, and the mischievous Grant and Duncan Wayde to have migrated to the spot.

"At least we're with Hufflepuff." Padma conceded. "My sister has Potions with Slytherin and she says it's simply awful. Slytherin gets away with everything because Professor Snape is their Head of House."

"What did you expect? Snape never struck anyone as being terribly fair." Harry snorted quietly from his corner. He had to admit, all these first-year Ravenclaws were amusing—not that he'd ever tell anyone.

"I don't see why you don't do better in Potions," Goldstein nettled. "You always have all these bloody books in your hands and you never know anything when Snape calls on you."

Harry's lips twitched in amusement as he looked up from _Potion Explosions and Why You Were Doomed To Begin With. _Most everyone was half-heartedly scribbling out a decent potion essay as opposed to Harry's rather sloppy written foray into the assignment. It was written sometime during his History of Magic class and stuffed somewhere inside his Transfiguration text.

"He's right, you know." Stephen Cornfoot, one of Goldstein's friends, concluded. "Snape's taking Ravenclaw points even before he's done asking you a question. You cost us thirty points last week alone. At this rate we'll never win the House Cup."

"And I earned forty in Transfiguration. I say it evens out."

"But I know you know the answer." Padma protested, apparently deciding the conversation was more interesting than recounting the entire (and being Ravenclaw, also quite detailed) history of the Sleeping Draught. "You certainly knew more than even Turpin did about the Doxie Antitoxin we brewed last week—I saw you reading that stuffy book even before Turpin got her hands on it."

Harry raised a curious eyebrow and nearly smiled when Padma just scowled at him and proceeded to ignore his goading.

"I'm just making it easier on Snape and failing myself before he has the chance to." Harry finally announced blandly to the table.

A couple of his peers gave him disbelieving stares and even seemed to agree when Goldstein's friend, a curious boy named Howard Hopkins loudly announced, "He would never do that! He's a Professor!"

Harry waited till the older students shot the unfortunate boy quelling glares before continuing, "Snape went to school with my father and godfather and spend seven years at the wrong end of each others' wand. He certainly can't take up his issues with the dead and I look enough like my father to give him a coronary each time he sees me."

"You should take it up with Professor Flitwick." Goldstein advised, rather sensibly if truth be told. "I doubt our Head of House much less the Headmaster would allow it if it was true."

Glancing up once again from his book Harry shot the boy a sideway glance. "He's happy thinking I'm a useless 'dunderhead'. Now why would I say otherwise?"

"But it isn't exactly fair to you," Li finally spoke up from her seat next to Harry. Unsurprisingly her essay was neatly quilled and almost done. "You are deliberately sabotaging your education to play games with the Professor."

She had a point, a relevant one if Harry was at all worried about his marks. "There's sabotage and then there's _sabotage_."

Nudging his book up so they could see the title Harry explained to the curious minds. "I want to see if I can blow up more cauldrons than that Longbottom boy."

"That's brilliant." Grant and Wayde chorused in unison, suspicious grins lighting up their faces.

Padma looked rather resigned at the green-eyed boy, "You're a nutter."

"Should be interesting." Li reasoned.

"You're still shoddy at Charms." Goldstein muttered rebelliously, his voice just loud enough for Harry to hear.

**S**

For such a school with a history as long as Hogwarts it was inevitable that records would eventually spring up. So it was inevitable that eventually there would be a day records were batted around the student population. Everything from Quidditch scores (Gryffindor's record twenty-three years as Quidditch Champions beginning in 1836) to longest Charm essay ever written (a record 254 feet of parchment on the _Patronus_ _Charm). _

Records were shared from one generation to the other, from sibling to sibling, and finally from roommate to roommate. It wasn't all that odd for an incoming student to swear he would topple his father/mother/family's/brother's record. Not all records were hard won or all that welcomed. Case in point being Gwendolyn Greengrass who hiccupped for 2 years 19 days 10 hours 37 minutes and 18 seconds or poor Ferdinand Fingle who took 31 Bludgers to the head during his rather ill-fated 3 year stint as a Quidditch Seeker.

It was rather unfortunate that no one told Professor Snape a rather unwilling Neville Longbottom and an all too willing Harry Potter would do their best to set a record for Most Cauldrons Exploded. It was enough that the Weasley twins had taken it in mind to set the records for Most Detentions Served by perversely goading each other to reach new heights. It wouldn't be surprising if Professor McGonagall started sporting just a little more gray hair.

Siding self-preservation Harry had been abandoned by his Ravenclaw peers and even the most kind-hearted Hufflepuff. Consequently he'd been delegated to work on his own during Snape's class and had quite happily ushered in November with a bang (one felt as far as the Slytherin Common Room). If Severus Snape ever wondered how could Potter escape injury after melting/blowing/evaporating/petrifying his cauldron the man didn't have to look far to curse the infamous Potter luck. Because after all, wasn't it a Muggleborn mother and a healthy amount of luck the reason the cursed Potter child lived to become a _celebrity_?He certainly thought so.

And if his classmates were torn between heartily disapproving of Harry's disruptive behavior and laughing themselves silly, well there was really little they could do.

**S**

It had been raining for fourteen days straight when the sky abruptly cleared and held a false summer day for the entire world to see. Of course it came as no great surprise when Hogwarts students formed a mass exodus and enjoyed what sunshine they could.

Harry who'd taken to casting his vacuum-styled Silencing Spell around his bed still found it hard to sleep in a foreign space. Or more precisely he had trouble staying asleep. No matter how tightly closed the shutters were he still found himself rising with the dawn, a habit he'd developed whenever he was someplace he knew instinctively as Not-Home.

After a light breakfast Harry found himself sitting in the early misty silence on a giant tree-root in front of the lake. It was so quiet he found himself almost believing he was the only being around, human or otherwise. On his lap a book, _Why Your Potion has Become an Aromatic Toxin, _trailed forgotten from the end of his fingers. Every once in a while inky black limbs would rise from the lake surface before disappearing completely. This was the sort of peace one couldn't exactly find surrounded constantly by chattering bodies, corporal or otherwise. Harry loved it.

The day had taken it in mind to fully imitate summer all the way down to the gentle warmth of the holiday months. It was also a Saturday and even the most die-hard bookworm found themselves outside (even if they were still a reading a book). The pitch had become an impromptu Quidditch game with close to twenty people on each team. A section of the grounds had been transformed into a muddy football match by some young energetic Muggleborn and rather befuddled half-bloods.

The higher the sun got the more people seemed to find their way into the grounds till Harry finally closed his book to witness the antics of some of his more foolish classmates. It was near noon and at last count three separate students had found themselves dunked into the water—one of them twice.

It wasn't long before Li and Padma settled near him, both girls hiking up cumbersome robes as they scrambled to sit next to Harry on the exposed root.

"Hello." The voice was timid but the look on her face was stubborn. Granger had joined Padma and Li as they settled next to Harry. Neither girl was at all surprised by Granger's appearance. Harry just looked at her, choosing to remain unconcerned over what she was doing there.

"Hermione." He hummed back.

"I just wanted to say thank you for…for that thing. I also wanted to tell you you're an incredibly reckless boy and heaven only knows what you were doing there! You could have been hurt!"

Padma snickered as Perfect Harry's impenetrable composure left him gapping at the young Gryffindor girl.

"Well…" He said somewhat uselessly.

"Not to say it would have been better if you'd never come. Anyway, as far as I'm conserved it's all Weasley's fault."

"I take it you two already know each other." Padma interrupted slyly. "Hermione goes to the Herbology and Charms tutorials with me. Hermione, you'll have to forgive the ice prince here, he sometimes forgets he's eleven years old."

"Eleven and a half." Harry argued for the sake of arguing.

"Really?" Hermione peered curiously at him. "I'm twelve and four months."

"And she's older than you too." Padma teased.

"My parents always said you have to respect your elders." Li added.

Harry frowned at all three girls, curiously aware that he'd lost whatever argument he'd had to begin with (if he'd had one at all).

"Huh. I don't recall hearing anything of that sort." Harry said airily, successfully ignoring the three giggling fiends.

"Don't mind him Hermione; Harry here's a one of a kind—thank Shiva for small favors." Padma assured. "So what sort of mischief did you two get up to?"

Harry flipped them all a look of amusement before turning back to watch the grounds. Trapped, Hermione gave the other girl a nervous smile. "He helped me?"

"My dear, somehow I doubt that's all he did. Moving on, who is this Weasley and why is he so despicable?"

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione practically ground out. "Is a completely insensitive loudmouth. Every time I try to be his friend and help him out he always throws it back in my face, usually by publicly humiliating me."

"Now, now, don't hold back." Harry called back. Hermione shot the boy a scolding look and wasn't at all surprised when it had no effect.

"Is he one of the Gryffindor red-heads?" Li asked; face scrunched up as she tried to recall the boy in question.

"Yes and the most insufferable one as far as I'm concerned—and that's considering what troublemakers his twin brothers are."

"I take it Gryffindor is not all that you hoped it would be?" Li calmly asked, her easy manner prompting Hermione to confide what she probably could not have to anyone else.

"Unfortunately; I mean, I love Hogwarts and I'm learning loads but…sometimes I wonder if I belong to Gryffindor. It's not to say my roommates aren't nice or anything its just that I seem to have so little in common with them. Lavender and Parvati are already best friends with their own secret language and the other two girls in my room are cousins. I always used to get along better with the boys back in Primary but I don't see how I can do the same here. Thomas, Finnegan, and Weasley haven't a thing in common with me and don't even seem to care about learning more about magic. Neville on the other hand seems terrified every time I talk to him; it's absolutely frustrating getting him to say something."

Harry, who'd so far been listening, turned back to face Hermione. "Why are you so focused on eight people anyway? Gryffindor _is_ one of the smallest houses. Ravenclaw has twice as many and Hufflepuff has three times as much."

"Another House?" Hermione repeated the words seemingly odd tasting in her mouth.

"Why not?" Li reasoned in her familiar manner.

"Is not like they're all terribly evil." Harry said with an odd little smile. "What kind of Gryffindor would you be if you didn't at least try?"

Brown-eyes gave the boy another glare. _He certainly had the habit of taunting her_, Hermione thought.

"Fine then; I will."

"After all," Padma added with a knowing smile. "Being smart isn't the only thing Ravenclaw has going for it. Some of us are cunningly driving a certain unmentionable higher authority out of his mind—a plan worthy of a Slytherin I would think."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Harry shot back, content to watch the growing spectacle of various Quidditch players daring each other to broom races across the lake

Padma and Li smiled but didn't answer Hermione's unspoken question.

"You could try joining clubs." Li said, returning to the original subject.

"Surely you don't spent all your time going to the tutorials?" Padma prodded and then looked disbelievingly at the blushing Gryffindor. "You do! Come on Hermione, there's plenty of clubs out there and most of them aren't made up of frightful students terrified they're failing."

"Its just that I didn't know how far behind I would be when I came to Hogwarts. Most everyone lived around magic their whole life and I just didn't know how much I missed out on."

As expected Padma rolled her eyes, "Don't be silly. Even I know being Muggleborn doesn't mean you're an idiot. Harry here is absolutely brilliant in Transfiguration, Herbology, a closet Potions-lover and _he's_ Muggle-raised."

"Really?" Somehow that sounded entirely disbelieving.

"What do you know Hermione?" He said in a tone that could only be described as teasing if not taunting. "Just because we only have Charms and History together doesn't mean anything; not really. Charms just don't do anything for me."

"Don't we know it." Padma muttered. "I don't know if you're doing that deliberately or not but poor Flitwick is out of his mind trying to figure out what you're doing wrong."

"If you want I could tutor you." Hermione shyly offered.

"She does have the highest grade in our Charms class." Li pointed out to a seemingly oblivious Harry.

The boy in question didn't even turn around to look at the girl. Lifting a careless hand he waved dismissibly at them. "Don't worry about it."

"It wouldn't be much trouble." Hermione insisted.

And now amused green eyes looked back at her from over his shoulder. "It isn't something you can help me with that someone hasn't already tried."

All over the surrounding grounds shrieks and laughter erupted as two students crashed roughly into the water, flying brooms imitating batons as they spun in the air.

"Honestly, _boys_." Padma cursed as another splash of water erupted. The two drowned boys started flinging spells at each other. It was nearly impossible to hit each other but even the weakest tickling charm seemed to send a wave of water straight into the air.

On the banks a huddle of broom wielding students were too busy gesturing at each other to pay much attention to their soaking companions.

"They're going to do something foolish." Hermione grumbled. "Serves them right if the Giant Squid wakes up."

"MY GOOD PEOPLE," the sonorous-enhanced voice of a troublesome red-head twin blared across the grounds. "THESE GENTS HERE SEEM TO BE IN A BIT OF A PICKLE. SO WE PROPOSE A CHALLENGE: IF IT'S RAW TALENT THAT THEY WANT THEN LET THE FIRSTY'S RUN THE GAUNTLET."

"HERE, HERE. THAT SOUNDS LIKE AN EXCELLENT IDEA." The other twin agreed.

Red-faced the arguing group sprang apart.

"Fine then!" One of them could be heard shouting back, an older Ravenclaw by the looks of it. He said something to one of the red-heads, head peering at the surrounding crowds.

"AND DAVIS ANOUNCES HIS CHAMPION: LET IT BE…KEVIN ENTWHISTLE."

"BIT OF A REPUTATION THERE, TWIN OF MINE. YOUNG KEVIN COMES FROM A LINEAGE OF QUIDDITCH PLAYERS, BOTH BROTHERS HAVING PLAYED AT ONE TIME OR ANOTHER ON THE RAVENCLAW TEAM, BRILLIANT BEATERS IF I RECALL."

"TOO TRUE. BUT LET'S NOT FORGET OLIVER'S CHAMPION…"

"…LET IT BE…RONALD WEASLEY?"

"…AH, YOUNG RONNIKINS ALSO BOASTS A QUIDDITCH LINEAGE; HIS DASHING BROTHERS BEING AMONG THEM."

"TRULY BRILLIANT FELLOWS."

Harry watched curiously as Flint bent one of the surrounding boys toward him, quickly whispering something before stepping back. The boy in question straightened before speaking to the Weasley twins.

"RIGHT YOU ARE. AND ANNOUNCING BOLE'S CHAMPION. LET IT BE…"

"HARRY POTTER!"

"CAN HE DO THAT?"

"WE NEVER AGREED THEY'D ONLY CHOOSE FROM THEIR OWN HOUSE."

"BUGGER THAT."

"Harry!" Hermione immediately scolded. "You can't encourage whatever trouble they're brewing. It'll only cost you points when the professors come see what all the ruckus is about."

Harry gave the girl an Almost-Smile before shrugging. "Why not?"

"And exactly _how_ many times have you been on a broom?" The girl nettled.

"Once, twice, maybe thrice."

"Come on then," Padma said getting up to follow Harry. "If Harry's going to go splat on the lake I want to see."

Harry rolled his eyes as the other two girls sprang up to catch up with him.

"Come along Mr. Potter!" One of the twins raced up the gentle slope to latch on to Harry's shoulder. "Yes, yes, mustn't be late now."

The girls waved to him like a man going to face his execution, sadly and somewhat helplessly if one could ignore their traitorous smirks.

Harry caught Flint's eyes but neither said anything. It wasn't the time. Together their eyes flickered to Bole and Harry knew they both saw the same thing. A fourth-year boy, a little more interested in Quidditch, a little less interested in school-work. A Slytherin brute, easily riled and easily fooled. No one was about to credit him with thinking of using Harry Potter as his champion. Especially not with a foul-faced blond by the name of Malfoy practically tugging at the boy's robes like a needful child to his forgetful parent. But Marcus Flint had.

So what did it mean? That the Boy-Who-Lived didn't think all Slytherins were nasty creatures. What did it mean if he said no? What did it mean if he said yes? Green eyes meet smoky gray, Flint's stare assessing and his mouth taunting. And Harry, if he'd thought to feel pity he would have given it to Flint because it was true the Slytherin child saw more than any of them; more than Harry. It seemed cruel all of a sudden.

"Here mate," Fred Weasley interrupted Harry's musing, shoving a broom into his hands. "If Bole wants you to fly the least he can do is lent you his broom."

Harry shoved Flint from his mind and faced the Weasley boy head on. Leaning in close he murmured, "And what trouble will run loose when everyone is looking the wrong way?"

And Fred, or George if he was pretenting, smiled a devious smile. "Wait and see mate. You know you're always welcomed to run with us."

"LOOK HERE, LOOK NOW. CHAMPIONS WILL FLY ACROSS THE LAKE, AROUND THE POST AND FIRST ONE TO MAKE IT BACK WINS! THAT IS IF THEY CAN AVOID THE OBSTACLES."

All along the lake eager boys and a few girls gripped their wands in preparation to release a volley of 'obstacles'.

Harry looked at the other two boys, a pale-faced red-head and a blond boy gripping his broom like it was all that was keeping him up. He didn't think about the upcoming race. Why bother? Harry had done reasonably well on the broom during Madam Hooch's class. It had been easy to call to hand, easy to handle. Racing on the other hand…it seemed interesting.

"Now, when Burke here releases the firework you race for it." Davis informed the three runners crisply, leveling a heavy look on his own so-called 'champion'.

It was blinding for a second; a flash of brilliant white left spots dancing in the air.

"—and Weasley and Entwhistle are off to an early start. Potter looks a little dazed there—"

Like hell he was.

Leaning forward, he shot forward. The wind whistled in his ears, howling and mocking. The other two boys were already a few meters ahead of him. Harry spun abruptly, his weight steering the broom down and to the side in a sharp motion. A brilliant yellow spell whizzed by, close enough to leave the scent of ozone in its wake. Up ahead Weasley nearly spiraled out of control in the effort to avoid a collision with twin beams of red-energy. Entwhistle was in the lead and the current target of suspicious spirals of gold and crimson energy. Peering against the sharp wind Harry saw Entwhistle collide head on with a pale beam, his hair exploding into wild spirals of purple streamers.

"—Entwhistle takes the first hit—"

He only had a second to avoid it. Diving straight down, the feeling of vertigo heavy in his stomach, Harry saw an especially brilliant gold flare explode above him. The air pushed down on the water just a meter below him, his cumbersome robes flapping like wings behind him.

"—a brilliant example of a Wonski Feint—"

Glancing ahead he saw Weasley was gone; out of the corner of his eye the red-headed boy had veered widely to the other side of the lake, having fallen to third place. Up ahead Entwhistle had been hit by another spell, this time one of his feet was jittering uncontrollably. He lost side of them as a boom sounded out terribly close to his face; a second later lake-water fell back down.

And Harry smiled.

Pressing his body even closer to the broom Harry pushed himself as close to the lake surface as possible, till the murky water was all he saw. Boom after boom hit the surrounding water. Weaving from side to side he could hardly see from around the water falling back down. Glancing upward he saw the trail-end of Entwhistle's broom before it disappeared from sight under another watery explosion.

A little bit more. That's all he needed. Up ahead a bright orange pole marked the end of the first half of the race. Curving his spine Harry pulled up, his figure no doubt exploding from the misty surface. Harry closed his eyes and knew Entwhistle was right behind. And he smiled a wolfish smile as he felt Entwhistle jerk to the side or risk ramming straight into Harry.

"—Potter cuts Entwhistle! Weasley's back on course—"

The wind howled as Harry circled the pole. Behind him Entwhistle raced to catch up.

"—it's a close race! Entwhistle and Potter are fighting for the lead. It looks like Weasley's having some trouble; brooms weren't meant to do the waltz."

Entwhistle pulled up beside Harry, their bodies so close their robes tangled in the air. Just like before Harry pulled down, diving into the low layer of mist.

And that's why he was the first one to see what was wrong. Slinky black curves broke the surface, a multiple of arms Harry couldn't even begin to count. It was sinew cloaked in black skin, powerful and erupting more rapidly as the Giant Squid below churned.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to stick so close to the lake surface. Pulling up, Harry sped toward the air; his body angling till it was racing alongside Entwhistle.

Harry screamed a warning only to have it lost in the wind. Unsteadily he released one hand to swiftly jerk Entwhistle's attention and pointed hastily to the lake, which had darkened as the Squid rose. The boy stared incomprehensibly back at him, completely ignoring the agitated tentacles. Harry rolled his eyes. It wasn't his concern to warn the boy more than he had.

Leaning his weight completely to the side, Harry swerved away from Entwhistle. Out of his corner of his eye he saw tentacles raise themselves above the water.

"—uh-oh! Looks like things just got a bit more dangerous—"

Everywhere limbs snapped. Tucking Harry felt the wind howl as one wet arm nearly scrapped his back. Entwhistle hadn't been as lucky as a powerful limb jerked the end of his broom, sending him veering uncontrollably to the side. Their distraction was all an unjinxed Weasley needed to shot from between them. Spiraling to higher ground Harry jerked his broom down letting gravity give him an extra push. Eyes stinging, he raced faster than before. All around them tentacles crashed against the water, sending rivers of rain into the air. Harry swerved away from Weasley; just in time to avoid a flailing limb that knocked into the boy none to gently.

"—Potter's taken the lead—"

He was moving fast now. His broom jerked as it approached speeds that definitely weren't in the guidelines. A bit more; and that was it.

Below him black robed figures waved as Harry spun to the sky, letting the broom fall speed fall down a bit more gently. Twisting back down Harry neatly landed as Weasley nearly crashed into the ground, a quick jerk allowing him to take his own detour into the air.

Letting his feet touch the ground Harry was nearly thrown off balance as a figure nearly toppled him.

"What do you know? You didn't crash!" Padma yelled into his ear. Behind her Li smiled and Hermione altered from scowling at everyone and smiling at Harry. Hands padded him into the back. Harry had the presence of mind to notice a cool hand grasp his shoulder for a few seconds before Flint moved away.

"Congrats mate!" George Weasley ruffled black hair. "You're set for Quidditch next year."

"Didn't know Bole's broom could do any of that." Fred Weasley added as they moved on, the youngest Weasley finally having come to ground.

"Come one!" Harry signaled his fellow first-years as older students began arguing just as loudly as before. It looked like further races would either be canceled or flown thrown the arms of a Giant Squid.

"I just knew the Giant Squid was going to wake." Hermione reprimanded.

Escaping the chattering crowds, Harry turned back to watch the Squid fling its arms about as it slowly retreated back into the depth.

He smiled.

**S**

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded a goodbye to Padma and Li as he made his way down toward the diminutive professor.

"Yes?"

Professor Flitwick glanced at the boy worriedly and a bit uneasily. "There's a matter I'd like to discuss with you later today. Please stop by my office after dinner."

The green-eyed child studied the Charms teacher, sharp eyes noticing the agitated twitching of knobby fingers. "May I ask why?"

"I would like for Madam Pompey to run some tests…It's been too long; you should have been able to cast a charm—no matter how bundled by now."

"I see. Very well."

**S**

"It's been nearly four months Albus! I know you never wanted to consider it but we cannot deny the fact young Mr. Potter might have been…damaged that night." Minerva McGonagall finally burst out. The ever increasing silence finally grating her nerves.

All around them the portraits of former Headmasters looked on, for once keeping quiet. Albus Dumbledore was silent for so long Minerva was quite sure she would be dismissed or side-tracked.

Yet again.

For his part Albus continued staring out his office window, blue eyes serious. When he finally spoke his voice was powerful in its intensity and heartbreaking in its helplessness.

For a moment Minerva knew the old man would share his burdens. For a moment she would understand the price the man had paid, had seen others pay for him, in his name—as she too would have done had she been called to act.

"How can I Minerva?"

So much sorrow, so much regret. Life had tilted and they had fallen.

"How can I see now what damage our salvation has wrought? A child, Minerva; He was nothing but a babe when Voldemort came for him."

"It was the price." Minerva said quietly, unwillingly.

"Hogwarts will not be what it could have been to young Harry."

"No," Minerva agreed despite every fiber in her that wanted to rail at the injustice. That horrible _thing_ that damaged one of her precious children. "But it can still be wonderful."

"The Board will not like this. Lucius holds too much sway on their minds and some have not forgotten their…disgrace."

"Mr. Potter is still a wizard." Minerva insisted fiercely. "He's the most brilliant Transfiguration student I've ever seen. He will most surely surpass his father; he's liable to surpass you and me with enough training. The only thing stopping him right now is time and his youth."

"Of course my dear. As long as I am Headmaster Hogwarts will always be his home for as long as he wishes it. We all own him that."

"Of course." Minerva said more sharply than she intended, never having thought otherwise.

"Has Poppy and Healer Reight finished their examination?"

"This morning." She said without bothering to pretend she hadn't been hounding their own dear Poppy for a minute by minute update. Suffice to say it would be a long time before she would be welcomed in the Infirmary.

"And they are sure?"

"Yes, his magical channels are damaged. They don't know if he'll ever be able to cast."

"And has young Harry been told?"

Thin lips pressed in tightly to keep in her disapproval. The Headmaster did not need to know her own personal feeling on the matter. It was already a wretched situation without adding more burdens on the man.

"Healer Reight," and still there was no missing her resentment. "Felt it best Mr. Potter be told at once. It is no easy thing a person much less a child must face; he will need time to truly understand the matter."

Albus was silent. His thoughts distant and dwelling on a child that even now slept in the Infirmary; no doubt exhausted from the invasive studies.

"There is hope," Minerva added with more confidence than she felt. "He is still young; there is a chance he might yet heal."

"But never as he once was; once could have been." Albus said in an unusual fit of negativity.

"No." She agreed, head averted. All the things she wanted to scream against; all the things that had gone wrong. All the things she even now had to bury deep inside her. It wouldn't help things. Wouldn't help the boy who would never become the brilliant wizard born to James and Lily Potter. Wouldn't help the Headmaster whose burdens were weight by the shattering of a family he had thought he could save.

"No," the Headmaster finally said. "Things will never be the same again."

**S**

The Infirmary was quiet. Healer Reight had left in the early morning, the dour-faced man no doubt biting his lips to keep his Healer Oaths in check. After an afternoon of useless clucking Madam Pompey had finally retreated to her nearby suit of rooms.

After all…

…after all…

Two days of study. Spell after uncomfortable spell cast by two trained Master Healers. Not to mention foul tasting potions ingested to track his magical immunity; how far could the testing potions travel in his system before his natural magic reacted. Diagnosis and symptoms flung from one mouth and into another. Two figures tensed as they did _one more_ test to deny the inevitable.

After all…

….after all…

The Boy-Who-Lived wasn't a wizard.

Not fully, not truly, not anymore.

Alone for the first time in the longest time Harry sat quietly in his hospital bed. He was still nauseous from earlier potions and sensitive to harsh light.

It would pass, Madam Pompey had assured.

Sleep would not come and Harry was left to contemplate what they told him. They stood before him, heartbroken as if it had happened to them instead, and had the…the _gall_ to tell him he wasn't a wizard.

Not anymore; not fully.

And now Harry sat curled in his bed, two hands cupped in front of him. Between those hands a perfectly formed sphere of air spun faster and faster till it formed a milky ball of cut air. His bangs flew wildly and for the first time since coming to Hogwarts the lighting shaped scar lay bare and exposed. A testament to one of the greatest acts of magic in centuries.

"What am I then?" Harry whispered to his sphere. The magic in his hands pulsed once before he allowed it to fade.

"What am I then?" He asked the empty room.

**S**

**TBC…**

**20 October 2006**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: You know it. I don't own anything you recognize as someone else's work. **

**S**

"Lemon Drop?"

Harry gave the Headmaster a strange glance before his eyes were distracted by the curious artifacts shoved into every nock and cranny.

"Mr. Potter…I'm sure you can guess why I've called you up to my office."

"The examination." Murmured the unconcerned boy as he eyed the odd looking bird.

The gray-haired wizard titled his head in acknowledgement before glancing at the creature that held the boy's attention.

"That is Fawkes; a phoenix."

Harry kept his eyes on the fire bird.

"The Chinese believed the phoenix to be a primordial force of the heavens and the bringer of good fortune." He finally turned to look at the old man. "Do you think they were right?"

An elderly hand reached to stroke the bright colored plumage. The phoenix trilled in pleasure and both wizards felt the magic weaved into the air. Albus Dumbledore smiled at his old friend, as always comforted by the sweet song. His distraction was all that was needed to miss Harry's reaction. The green-eyed boy sucked in his breath in shock, startled to sense the warm caress of fire curling around his very being. For a minute Harry was startled; the feeling of his magic rising to meet the birdsong was pleasant and _unwelcomed_. He didn't want something he didn't know touching him so deeply.

"The G-Greeks…held the belief that when the phoenix felt its time to die it would built a nest of wood and be consumed in its own fire, a new bird springing from the pyre."

The Headmaster gave the boy a pleased smile. "Muggle mythology I believe?"

Harry nodded, narrowed eyes suspiciously eyeing the bird.

"Phoenixes are indeed consumed by their own fire when they undergo a Burning Day. However they are reborn once more from their own ashes. Curious creatures, immortals who have always held a strong affinity for power and healing. And to answer your question, yes, I have always believed Fawkes to be a bearer of good fortune."

"Even today?"

"Even today," The Headmaster confirmed. "Both Professor Quirrell and Professor Flitwick will be made aware of your situation. You will continue to attend their respective classes because while you might not be able to perform the necessary spells it is always wise to know what others are capable of."

Harry nodded, not inclined to reveal the turbulent emotions that had half-convinced him he'd be sent to the Dursleys. Not quite ready to admit to himself if it would have been a good or bad thing.

"Now Mr. Potter, how have you settled into Hogwarts?"

A raven-head tilted to look at the old wizards, brilliant green-eyes meeting twinkling orbs head on. Blue eyes stared at the boy for a second before looking away; blinking rapidly as if to clear a bothersome speck.

"As well as can be expected."

The Headmaster nodded, "Feel free, Mr. Potter, to come to me with any concern. You should remember it is both my responsibility and pleasure to oversee the care of the students housed here."

The child nodded his understanding before slipping from the room with what was becoming his trademark quietness.

Alone now, Albus Dumbledore rubbed his brow to ease the curious headache that was building. Not entirely sure if the events of the meeting were for the best or not.

_Harry James Potter_; a clever child, a pleasure really. He still had the potential to be a powerful wizard no matter whatever limitations the healer studies had uncovered.

But his mind…his mind was a curious thing. There had been none of the natural (however faint) Occlumency shields most human minds were born with. Instead, Albus had been sucked into a whirlwind of memories; thoughts and images always moving too fast to clearly show any one thing. So many thoughts spiraling much like a tornado he'd once seen. Before he'd known it he'd been ejected as seemingly as he'd entered, not quite knowing how'd he had done either.

Harry Potter didn't have natural occlumency shields; would probably never be able to learn the discipline. It still didn't mean anyone would ever be able to slip into the child's mind unwanted. And still there was an echo of foreign darkness…

If Albus wasn't as convinced as he was to begin with, one look into the boy's mind would have seriously called into question the child's sanity. For now all he could do was lay another deed at the feet of the ill-fated Killing Curse and wonder what strange miracle had come about that awful night. He was beginning to think young Harry hadn't blocked the curse as well as first believed. There was more damage than a cursed scar.

It wasn't worrisome. Yet.

**S**

Harry watched the Devil's Snare curl around his fingers, the soft vines tangling and untangling in a dizzying dance.

He didn't know why he was there. Didn't know what inspired him to hide out in the Greenhouse. But then again, he had never been one to overly question his instincts. Had that been true he'd probably be a sniveling insecure brat ingrained with the knowledge he was worthless and deserved the Dursleys' disdain. Harry had happily curbed the illusions of his relatives. He might still be a worthless sack of space in their eyes but at least that sack of space could bite back.

That still didn't detract him from his original thoughts.

Recent days had only brought troubling news. The odd mismatch of talents made little sense in his mind. It was all well and good to know a Killing Curse had been blocked and deflected but it did little to help him figure out the possible consequences.

To his way of thinking Harry could manipulate matter and unmatter, the ability to form and reform molecules into solids and gases. That was the basics of Transfiguration; the later years of schooling fleshing out Transfiguration Theories into their more complex forms. As far as he could tell he wasn't bound by the normal restrictions his peers were in this point of their youth.

Herbology was another fascinating subject in itself. So many plants possessed unique properties that nature and magic could only bring about; the potency of magical herbs was startling. The ease which his hands took to the earth also helped. He might not always understand or even agree with the explanations given but his hands knew the earth. Short of giving birth this was the next best way of touching life. Somewhere between a seedpod and the first unfurling of a plant Harry decided life had come and that had always served to stump him. Herbology was just another way to touch that life.

Potions was a rather dubious subject. Theoretically Harry was quite brilliant on the subject. His fascination with the raw materials translated to the many ways combinations of active and potent herbs could be brewed. He knew which herbs were useful for what, which were opposed to each other, which were complementary. But it didn't help he'd never correctly brewed any Potion. It wouldn't do for Snape to think Harry's brain cell had company.

History and Astronomy had the general consensus of being a bore and a half. Harry might have force fed the subject into his head but he wasn't happy about it.

DADA was a chore. The stuttering professor usually attempted some sort of lecture before assigning the next chapter in their text. The week and a half spent on Night Mites and their cousins, Dream Mites, (little bugs that induced intense nightmares and dreams that untreated lasted for forty-eight hours) had been particularly…enlightening. He hadn't even tried to perform any defensive and offensive magic but it looked like he might never be able to. Class didn't worry him as much as it should—the current professor didn't even assign the second years any practical work.

Charms was a cross to bear. First year was meant to explore a general overview of what Charms were capable of doing. It was also meant to practice rudimentary spells to build up 'magical muscles' so to speak.

And Harry would never be able to do it.

Not like they did.

He could manipulate the air around his intended objects to make them float or he could push the air pressure one way or another to make an object come to him or away but he couldn't make the object itself float. He could mimic many of the Charms but he'd eavesdropped enough on the older years to know there were things he probably would never do.

And that led him to his current dilemma.

Every wizard and witch, as soon as they received their wand, had the potential to turn it against him. It was a world where every man, woman, and child was armed with a revolver. They were dangerous. Fallible human beings that could at any time fall prey to the viciousness of emotions and let their sensibilities carry them away. Remorse wouldn't be of help if Harry couldn't protect himself from permanent damage.

So did he want this?

Was the bounty of magic enough incentive to become a second-class wizard? Was it worth it?

He wasn't brute enough to think magical powers (and physical strength) were what the world ran on. Harry could play their mind games just as well; could certainly find the strength to become powerful enough his own way to ensure the wizards didn't think about his magical strength. But it left him vulnerable and that was the one thing he'd struggled never to be. Never again the little boy that couldn't do anything but _see_. Never again the child that had to keep silence in a boastful world.

So he was left with a choice.

A whole world armed in its every gesture and a boy who would never be able to cast even the weakest shield. Was he prepared to forgo regular schooling, the chance to become a part of another society, just so he could learn magic, become a pretty icon on a pedestal? Could he deny the power that bleed from his very being? And if he could, would the strange spurts of accidental magic stop? Magic that he sometimes couldn't control; a shattered vase in his anger, a cracked tea set frozen when he had swallowed his words.

He didn't know.

A slight thump made him look around only to see a familiar toad making its way toward him. A funny creature with a curious attraction to Harry. He'd spotted the toad wandering into his room several times. As it was his dorm mates were convinced the creature belonged to Harry.

"Trevor…?"

Crouched in the back of the Greenhouse Harry titled to the side to peak at whoever had entered his sanctuary.

"Trevor, it isn't funny you know. Why do you always have to be so much trouble?" A boy's voice half-heartedly complained as he scanned the different rows of plants. "Come on Trevor, where are you?"

Harry glanced at the stalker-toad. "Trevor?"

The toad blinked back at him.

"Trevor!...eh, hello?" Uncertainty immediately invaded the whole boy as he spotted Harry. Flustered the child glanced nervously at Harry before his eyes settled on the toad. "Trevor!"

Harry raised a curious brow. He recognized the boy faintly as a Gryffindor; the Longbottom child who seemed intent on blowing up the Potions lab (if Harry didn't do it first).

"Sorry, sorry," The boy apologized for no reason. "That's my toad. He runs away sometime."

"Longbottom?"

"Ah, yes…Neville Longbottom. Just call me Neville."

"Harry Potter."

The boy fidgeted, "I k-know."

Harry titled his head, honestly lost at what to do with Neville. Shrugging Harry hoisted the toad in one palm and dusted himself with the other hand. Afternoon classes were already over and homework was no doubt breeding in his book bag.

"Thanks." Neville muttered as he took the toad back. "I lost him again. Half the time I don't know what I'm even doing here."

"You're here aren't you?"

"Yeah…"

"Then you're the only one who can convince yourself you don't belong here."

"Oh…"

"Goodbye Longbottom." Harry split off onto another hallway, a faint goodbye following him.

**S**

_Boom!_

Strange flakes of gold exploded into the air, each shinning brilliantly before settling onto every surface available (much to the displeasure of several neatly groomed girls). Startled first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs eyed the specks and the curious boy who caused it all.

The boy in question, a certain 'dunderhead' by the name of Harry Potter, ignored their curiosity. Interested he held up his palms to catch the golden powder. The specks flared a warm gold on contact with his skin. All around him the same reaction was repeated as the power lightly dusted several students and their forgotten cauldrons. And because of that it was quite a surprise when the powder merely fell inert when it touched the table.

"Potter…" Professor Snape choked out, a mix between exasperation and rage making him sound rather strangled. "_What_…_did…you…do_?"

Harry ignored him, not willing to let the first thing of interest to happen in the class escape his attention. Twisting his fingers in concentration he called his magic to the surface, the lazy power shimmering as it waited for a form of Harry's choosing. And like that the golden powder still floating in the air streaked toward him, splotches of shimmer neatly coating his entire body and ruining what was probably a rather nice school robe.

"I think it likes magic." The boy said surprisingly calmly (or so his classmates thought). It was quickly agreed that the blotchy red blooming on the Professor's face was not a nice color.

"_Potter! Detention_! Everyone—out!"

Even for Potions, the students set a record as they nearly scrambled over each other to leave. Still it was surprising that the last boy to leave was the instigator of the whole mess. Harry eyed his teacher curiously, keen to remember the sight. His bat-like professor had escaped most of the mess but lanky black hair had still been dusted with gold powder—powder that was no longer quite powder. Harry didn't think it wise to mention that the professor now looked like some of the ladies from Petunia's usual beauty parlor, the ones that raved about hair highlights.

"What are you looking at boy! Thirty points from Ravenclaw!"

Definitely not wise.

Outside students milled about. Letting the door slam behind him Harry glared at the starring children. "Take a picture why don't you and send it to your mum—baby's first time being thrown out of class."

Goldstein laughed.

"Harry?" An awkwardly bend Padma called out, long black hair stubbornly holding a golden glow. "I don't think this is going to come out."

Li, whose own hair was kept chin length, shook it once. "It is rather beautiful."

"Well…" A glowing Goldstein unsuccessfully stifled a smile. "Potter I hope you like the effect because I assure you, mate, you got the worst of it all."

Harry looked down on his robes that had gained a gold shine. The skin on his hands glowed as if he'd deliberately stuck his palms onto real gold. No doubt his face was sporting the same look. All around him students pushed out their hair (which had taken most of the damage) and studied it either in amusement or frustration.

Padma, having given up on her endeavor, was fluttering around Harry in fascination. "I think it looks nice Harry. How you're going to explain this to rest of the school, I don't know, but it's absolutely brilliant."

Hopkins ruffled his own sun-touched brown hair before saying, "What I want to know is how you did that."

"None of the ingredients we were using could have done this." Grant, his roommate, added.

Harry, who had begun walking back away, explained to his fellow Ravenclaws who'd followed his example. "Of course nothing we were assigned would have done that. Frankly nothing in our potions kit would have done anything similar. S'why I filched some of the ingredients from the Potions cabinet behind my lab station. Brilliant, wasn't it?"

"For ruining most of our robes I highly think it to be simply awesome." Grant praised, trading mischievous looks with Wayde. "Figure you could replicate it?"

"Perhaps. Did you notice what it did?" Real excitement colored Harry's voice; the Harry who'd had Malcolm and William as troublemaker friends finally coming forward. "It reacted to _magic_ and only magic."

"What's so brilliant about that?"

Padma shook her head ruefully, "Probably because it was a complete accident."

"Well," Harry gave her an amused look. "I knew it was going to blow up like that. I just wasn't planning on the rest."

"Dear Merlin," Hopkins shuddered. "Did you see Snape?"

Goldstein grinned. "I think it's a brilliant look for him. He's always wearing those black robes; I say it's about time he shine up a bit."

"Oh, Harry—he's going to chop you for potions ingredients." Padma teased gleefully.

"Or just make sure Ravenclaw never wins the House Cup." Li reckoned.

"Seriously," Goldstein studied the mess of black and gold locks on Harry's head. "I don't think its going to come out."

Harry shrugged. "Probably worth it if Snape glows."

"Really, Professor Snape is going to kill Ravenclaw." Grant unsuccessfully tried to say seriously.

That night the Great Hall was treated to a rare sight. It wasn't enough that a good group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs showed up with a glow several upper-year girls compared favorably to summer tans or that more than one dark head was sun-streaked.

No, it wasn't that at all.

Every single student sat forward, mechanically raising spoons and forks to their lips. Occasionally one would mutter to their neighbor but for the most part students stared at their Potions Professor from the corner of their eyes. The dark, pale-faced man was gone. In his place a gold-streaked, golden-skinned glaring man practically grinded his meal between clenched teeth. If anything he looked worse off then when Harry had last seen him.

"I told you it reacted to magic." Harry crowed quietly.

Li didn't bother to hide her grin. "He probably tried to banish the whole mess. If it did what I think it did it all came toward him."

"Harry," Padma bit a giggle. "No one is ever going to find your body."

"Frankly I don't think he'll ever admit to himself I did it on purpose. Snape will probably chalk it up to me being a complete idiot."

"Better a complete one than a half-hearted effort." Li pronounced.

Nearby First Years bit their lips to hide laughter. They all had a feeling if they so much as let a giggle loose Snape would be taking names.

**S**

"I must say Severus, this is a new look for you." Albus said, twinkling blue eyes cheerfully oblivious to the foul glare the Potions Master threw at him.

Heads around the staff table shied away to hide twitching lips.

"If we could begin the staff meeting." Severus Snape grounded out between his teeth.

"All he needs is a red robe and he can cheer for the Gryffindor Quidditch team." Professor Sprout coughed quietly to Madam Hooch. Both women ducked as they bit their lips to stifle inappropriate giggles.

"I did notice a number of students sporting a similar…look." McGonagall began, dignified enough to keep her amusement private.

"Yes," A snarl curled around tight lips. "First-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. The fool of a boy, _Potter_, created this from a bungled up potion; not that I expected otherwise from the infernal dunderhead."

"Honestly Severus, I don't believe Mr. Potter is a dismal as you say. He is quite brilliant in Transfigurations."

"I however don't believe in coddling the little hellions."

"I don't—"

"Minerva, perhaps it would be best we begin the meeting?" Sprout interrupted, fascinated eyes repeatedly falling on her fellow Professor.

So far ignored, Flitwick leaned over to study Severus. "You say this was an accident?"

Severus was about to snarl again before he noticed the rather intent frown Flitwick sported. That and Flitwick was also a fearsome Dueling Champion. "Yes."

"Albus, look at Severus with mage sight. Tell me if you see what I see."

The Headmaster, always up for a good mystery, did as he was told. And frowned when he _saw_ Severus. "Dear me, this is quite unexpected."

Severus hid his worry and instead spat the first thing that came to mind. "If Potter did something I swear I'll feed the boy to Hagrid's monstrous creatures."

"What exactly were you brewing?" Albus finally asked, smiling at the unexpected results whatever the original reason. Seeing Severus throw the old man a foul look most everyone remembered Albus Headmaster had always been a bit mad.

"Egatnia's Balm."

Having experimented quite a bit with Potions during his apprenticeship with Nicholas Flamel the Headmaster was very aware the Balm shouldn't have been capable of doing anything like this—even if it was brewed incorrectly. "Do you know were Mr. Potter deviated from the process?"

The Potion Master scowled. "I'd be surprised if he even got the first step right."

"Filius what do you think?"

The Charms teacher scratched his beard. "Strange…_Stupefy_."

A red flash flew from Filius' wand and struck Severus soundly in the chest so fast no one was even quite sure what had happened. A second later the spell fizzled and dissipated.

An ugly flush was creeping up on the Potion Masters face. Unconcerned Albus adjusted his spectacles as he peered at the young man more closely. "Quite interesting."

"For those of us who don't know?" Minerva prompted.

Filius cleared his throat, turning to face his fellow professor even as his curious eyes drifted back to the younger man. "Under mage sight I would not have been able to see the difference between a Muggle and Severus. If I try I can see his life-energy but I can not see his magic. Once I cast the spell the effect lessened somewhat and I suspect another three or four spells would banish the effect—as well as the interesting color."

Severus twitched at the word _banish_. He was quick to remember what brought about his whole predicament. He'd attempted to banish the mess that covered his classroom only to have the strange substance attach itself to his body.

"A-Arree y-you say-saying it h-has d-defe-fensive properties?" Quirrel nervously added.

"Yes, yes," Flitwick nearly bounced before stilling and studying the man once more with interest. "I wonder how Mr. Potter did it."

Seeing interested glances prod him Severus answered tightly. "I'm afraid I haven't an untampered sample. The substance reacted…unfavorably to magic. It bonded to the surfaces it touched."

"It would be interesting to see the effects replicated but I suppose the rather…visible aftereffect would ruin any attempt to go unnoticed."

"A couple more Stunning spells and you should be back to your charming self." Professor Aldwin, the Ancient Runes instructor, said dryly.

Severus scowled more heavily. Albus ate a lemon drop. The Potion Master sent the Headmaster a suspicious glare. "If we could begin…?"

"Of course." Albus smiled placidly. "Filius if I could have a word with you afterward? Very well then, our first order of business is…"

**S**

"Potter! Hold on a second."

Turning to see Marcus Flint walking toward him Harry signaled Li and Padma to go on ahead. Both girls gave him suspicious looks before continuing on to the Great Hall.

The Slytherin boy stared at Harry's mismatched hair for a second before letting loose an amused smile. "I suppose this is your fault?"

"Me? Why would I ever admit to such awful disregard for potion lab procedure?"

"Deny all you want but my class meets right after the first-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and I'm very confident I know who keeps decorating the lab walls."

"I have quite a reputation of being awful in Potions. You should know better than to accuse me of deliberately doing anything as elaborate as this."

Flint scoffed, unwillingly smiling. "I know enough to know you had a very real hand in whatever mess was a foot."

"And why would I ever admit anything to a Slytherin? Especially when our put upon Potion Professor is your very own Head of House?"

"Cunning is universal; Slytherins are just known for using that skill to get what they want. A concept I'm sure you're more familiar with that you would like everyone else to believe."

Harry just gave the older boy his Almost-Smile and said nothing.

"Anyway I didn't call you to play another wonderful rendition of You-Have-No-Proof/ I-Won't-Admit-Anything. You, Mr. Potter, are cordially invited to play Quidditch with me and a few of my snake-like mates."

"You know, I've seen the brutes you call a Slytherin Quidditch team. It isn't exactly the most reassuring offer I've had."

"Not to worry; we reserve those fellows for bludgering the other Quidditch teams. You can say it's our strategy. No, tomorrow it will be just a couple of blokes from a few different years—I think one or two from another House. Afterwards we usually play Exploding Snap or gobble stones in our Common Room." The offer was surprisingly friendly for someone who up until then had perplexed Harry with his intentions.

"And what's to prevent some of your dear mates from taking a little revenge on account of a misused spell gone astray a certain Lord?"

"Really, I thought you wouldn't be as foolish as to believe all those nasty tales they throw about. Not all dark wizards crawled from Hogwarts' dungeons."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You would be surprised how far back Hogwarts archives the Daily Prophet and Warlock Times. All those names convicted or otherwise can't be a mere coincidence. Ten years isn't such a long time—especially when some people are still serving Azkaban sentences for crimes of war."

Flint raised an interested eyebrow. He was smart enough to pick the odd-wording being used. For a boy who had been stripped of family and made into an icon he was being remarkably cold to towards a very real war he had stopped (if not single-handedly at least severely hindering it) . "Crimes of war?"

Harry's mouth twisted as if swallowing something unpleasant. "One of my teachers said '_History is written by the victors_' (1). It's only a crime if you lose and frankly I don't believe the Ministry didn't make some other boy an orphan along the way."

Marcus Flint was silent for a moment, slightly stunned that the little First-Year (even if he _was_ Harry Potter) understood a concept some of his more thickheaded mates would never see. A concept he sometimes still fumbled with (because it wasn't said but the Flints had dealt on the wrong side of the war not so long ago).

"It happened." Marcus said unusually sincere. "But you must remember Death Eaters wore masks. Aurors didn't have the luxury of hiding who they were—not when their very own Ministry was so desperate to make heroes of their soldiers."

"And that's why they all earned the risk of having their unlucky fates. My…parents fought and they risked my welfare alongside their own when they became targets. Those who donned on masks risked retribution for going against society's accepted norms; they also risked their families and livelihoods should they ever be publicly suspected. Recent history has so far shown me that Dark and Light are two sides of a political issue and I've yet to be convinced on the merits of either one because there is simply no _proof_."

"And the question of blood-purity?" There was something guarded about Flints whole body as tense as it was.

Harry thought the older boy was either asking a question he never would to someone else or was holding back his disagreement. Either way Harry needed for Flint to understand who Harry was and could be. He needed to know if Flint would understand Harry couldn't follow the stories fed him. If the older boy planned on filling his 'impressionable' head with fairy tales Flint needed to know how far they would travel and how little they were worth.

"It simply hasn't been studied as in depth as it should be to deserve the bloodshed it has caused. The race of Men has always been in the habit of saying things that aren't necessary true.

"I'm sure you know the Dark Lord Grindlewald's history better than I but what I haven't seen mentioned in any of the history texts is the Muggle mirror of the wizard's war. To put it simply a man spearheaded a campaign to build an empire composed of his perfect bloodlines. It embroiled whole countries in war for years and in the end as many as 62 million people lost their lives. Right this moment there are dozens of other wars going on around the world—both between countries and within their borders; quite a number are currently fighting over the superiority of one race's, one religion's, one birthright's over another. So what was so different about this war?"

"Besides the fact it was ours?"

"But you're forgetting—I'm a product of the last war, not a participant."

"Potter, you _broke_ the Dark Lord's power. I don't know how much more involved you can get than that." Despite the seriousness of their discussion Flint quirked a smile at the odd observation, both because it was truth and the farthest from it.

"But no one ever asked me anything besides if I wanted to die and even then it wasn't so much asked as done…sort of."

"There are some that would call you traitor for saying such things."

"And they ask more of me than I would blindly give. My parents died for their philosophies. I know very well it wasn't just a question of ideology. A certain Lord ordered some very gruesome things and because of that he certainly deserved a nasty end; but spells came out of many wands and more than He killed. So then why did it become a question of my life for theirs?

"Should they live and die because of you?" Marcus curiously prodded, "That's what they call you—the Boy-Who-Lived; their Savior. Without you so many more would have died before an end came to the whole matter."

"I might have been the easiest route to end open conflict but I certainly didn't solve anything. The question of blood supremacy hasn't been answered and a large portion of those who perpetuated the matter were never caught."

"So you think it's only a matter of time?" Flint asked more sharply than he intended. He didn't know if he should be more unnerved or less hearing such dangerous speculation coming from the mouth of a child, albeit one who had vanquished the Dark Lord. It unsettled him to hear the very real possibility come from a mere boy when someone in his family's 'social' circle should have realized the last war's hostilities had never ended.

"I can't say." Was Harry's frustratingly vague answer. "I doubt it will happen tomorrow or the day after but those too quick to trust peace are the last to believe it has ended."

Both boys glanced at each other through the corner of their eyes, their stares assessing and impenetrable. "Your previous teachers seem to be quite good."

And like the Slytherin and Ravenclaw boys relaxed as they put away their tension. "It passed the time."

"Huh."

"I don't have a broom." Harry finally said.

Marcus stared at the boy for a second before realization hit. "Don't worry about it. I'll persuade someone to lend you a broom."

"So long as it finds its way uncursed into my hands."

"Potter…you're so suspicious."

Harry gave the older boy a dry look. "And that's a bad thing?"

**S**

Saturday's dawn came quietly. Both students and teachers took the opportunity to earn an extra hour of sleep or two. It also happened to be the perfect opportunity to experiment a bit more with talents that had so far been kept from prying eyes.

It had rained the night before and the air was sharp with the scent of morning dew. None of that mattered to the heavily cloaked boy who journey to a small glen not quite inside the Forbidden Forest but hidden from anyone peering out of one of the many castle windows.

Walls and turrets of stone rose in the air. From his spot on the ground, hands bedded into the cold earth, he could watch everything with fascination. A year ago he wouldn't have thought himself capable of doing anything of the same scale. For one, Harry hadn't believed it necessary. Even back then he had known he'd been born with some very odd gifts. He was not about to call himself a freak because of it so Harry had accepted the fact and moved on. But now that he knew there to be a world capable of raising mountains and leveling them, well, Harry had never been one to be left behind.

Around him the earth rippled like fluid water, churning like quicksand before freezing all together. Twisting his fingers he watched a stone wall, smooth and cold, shift. In the weak light it gleamed icy blue, the instantaneous shift from earth to a crystalline structure seemingly effortless. For a second the moonstone surface glittered coldly; and with a crack the thing crumbled. Fine moonstone powder settling over the glen.

He wasn't at all upset by the failure. Crystals were commonly used to bleed excess energy from potions; the energy needed to break crystal bonds usually up to the task of equalizing dangerous reactions. As such crystals were more delicately formed than his simple earth mounds. He would need time to channel the right amount of energy in a steady enough stream to transfigure crystals. And in the end this would be his most effective defense because Harry had yet to find a reason to trust Hogwarts to protect him; had yet to think Hogwarts itself wouldn't hurt him in the end.

It would be a month or a year, a season or decade, before everyone knew exactly what was wrong with their Golden Child. And Harry didn't think human nature would disprove itself and let itself understand what was different. Common sense being anything but common.

His heart or intuition, whatever the strange feeling was that had served him well in the past was telling him it was only a matter of time before the illusion he used failed. And knowing what he did, he held the very real fear they wouldn't understand Harry. Not his own gifts or his lack of theirs.

People burned witches. Harry didn't want to know who witches' burned.

**S**

Warren Reed was a half-blood Slytherin.

He wasn't the first and certainly wasn't going to be the last. After four years at Hogwarts he'd learned how immovable certain facts were in the minds of his peers. Under the drivel Binns fed the students it wasn't hard to see which attitudes had prevailed after the last Wizarding War. While it was true many of those who had heeded the Dark Lord's call had come from all walks of life it was also true Slytherin had been saddled with a the public dogma of supporting blood-purity.

Sometimes Warren had the feeling everyone thought the little first-years were led into the Dungeons and made to swear they would be indiscriminate bigots for the rest of their lives. Furthermore when the time came they would raise indiscriminate bigots of their own.

So by the time he was a Fourth-Year Warren had gotten used to the fact there would always be Hufflepuffs that eyed him strangely and Gryffindors that tried to catch him drinking blood or summoning the devil and Ravenclaws that were waiting for him to go running off into the night to rape and pillage some unfortunate fool. However he was smart enough to see not everyone believed the same prejudices fed them—just enough to make most situations mildly uncomfortable.

The last War had divided the Houses and they had never quite healed. Warren didn't think his Hogwarts career would include the final bridge between that divide.

"Mate, you coming or what?" Phillips Vercruysse, his best-friend, nettled. The tall boy with a broom in each hand jittered lightly as he impatiently waited for Warren to pull on a sweater.

Warren rolled his eyes. "Why such a hurry? Afraid Belinda will go wandering away after Flint again?"

Phillips scowled. "Everyone knows he wouldn't touch her last year—that fact hasn't changed this year."

"I still think she's a bloody useless witch."

Phillips sneered. "She can be as useless as she wants. She's still hot."

"That all?" Warren scoffed. In truth he'd disliked Belinda Scott since first year. The girl was as dumb as a brick but had the annoying habit of being there when something horribly embarrassing happened. (He still shuttered when thinking about the time he accidentally touched the sap of the Materad Vines. Bright orange hands were embarrassing enough without Belinda the Witch shoving his robe sleeves up so everyone could see.)

"It's enough, isn't it?"

Warren led the matter drop, not because he agreed but because he already knew Phillips would be as thick as ever.

"Whatever."

Warren and Phillips descended down to their Common Room making no effort to hide their brooms. It was a matter of pride. All around the eyes of lounging Slytherins followed them. Some were arrogant in their indifference and others twisted in their envy. It didn't really matter; it just meant they weren't invited to socialize with Flint's crowd, the Circle as some were known to call it.

Most of them had enough dignity not to sneak off and watch from the Quidditch stands; but there were always some that thought they could blend into the gatherings. While they might enjoy the day of rubbing elbows with the elite it was common knowledge Flint didn't like public scandal. He dealt with such matters quietly, either going after them himself or pointing them out to one of his eager-to-please minions.

Had Albus Dumbledore been more inclined to watch the happenings of Slytherin House he would have been uneasily reminded of another dark-haired boy. A brilliant boy who eventually became a much feared man. One who had cultivated the attention of other students, many of which eventually grew into positions of power, either by their own merits or through their families. It was also true some of the older staff members would remember Professor Slughorn and his 'get-togethers'. Either way this generation had Marcus Flint and his Circle.

It wasn't to say Marcus Flint was the next Dark Lord; after all Professor Slughorn had only ever aspired to promote himself. Even Severus Snape, who watched his House as closely as he dared, didn't quite know what to make of Marcus Flint. Because, wasn't it true Tom Riddle had been Hogwarts Golden Child once upon a time? And only a precious few knew how disastrous _that_ tale had ended. So there was little to do but watch and wait. And maybe grow a little uneasy when the Boy-Who-Lived decided to take up Flint's invitation.

There were more than enough people to make up two Quidditch teams. Slytherins were easily spotted, their numbers making up the majority of those there. A scattering of Ravenclaws and the odd Hufflepuff blended in seemingly. Everyone of note from the scarily-brilliant Third-Year Ravenclaw Simon Provost to the sickenly-wealthy Slytherin Sixth-Year Julius Ayers to the half-blood Warren Reed who was practically guaranteed an apprenticeship with a rare Enchanter. The Circle was conspicuous in its absence of Gryffindors; Flint having suspected there would be more hexing than talking involved (even if he thought Jack Slopper would have been a brilliant addition—most powerful Defense student in decades).

Their Families came from different circles, their blood-purity diverged, their ethics spanned the spectrum but what was true was that all those invited to the Circle wielded power of a kind. It wasn't that hard to see just what kind of attention the child coined as the 'Boy-Who-Lived' could garner. It was well known that the small Ravenclaw didn't invite curiosity (even going so far as to forcibly discourage it). However what little was known was gossiped about with abandonment.

Warren knew all this. Knew it even before (having been abandoned by Phillips) he'd plopped down next to a dark-haired boy.

" 'lo mate, Warren Reed, Fourth-Year, Slytherin."

Expectant eyes implored the smaller child who'd up until then had merely eyed the rest of the crowd either with recognition or interest.

The child looked at him and studied him a strange intensity (strange if he hadn't felt at one time or another the grueling stares of Flint and Snape). Intense jade-eyes blinked at him once before shifting back to the disarmingly mild green they'd been.

"Harry Potter, First-Year, Ravenclaw."

Warren nodded, relieved that the boy wasn't a braggart. He'd hex himself before he'd willingly give Belinda Scott the time of day and he wasn't about to spend time with someone of her ilk. He had been slightly wary such a public figure would be nothing but a windbag; quite the opposite of the dark, quiet boy who seemed to pick out every last thought Warren had ever entertained in just one look.

"I remember when you flew across the Lake. You ever think of playing Quidditch?"

Easy green-eyes (all the more deceptive Warren knew) flicked up to the quick game already in progress. "To be honest, I've never really learned how the game is played."

Warren sighed dramatically. "Now that's just cruel. You'd be brilliant if Ravenclaw ever decided to give you a try. Not a Beater…someone's liable to sit on you before the game's half-way done. You aren't big enough yet to be any kind of Keeper; perhaps a Chaser or Seeker—you've got enough talent to out fly half the Quidditch players here."

Warren was intuitive enough to sense the boy's amusement even if his face only revealed lazy interest.

"You play on your House team?"

"With _the Brutes_? I'll have you know I enjoy being relatively healthy…and unbroken. It isn't a secret what strategy our quidditch team follows."

"Would that be Pound-Them-Till-They-Stop-Twitching?"

Warren laughed. "I admit it might be a bit crude but it works—we've held the Quidditch Cup for the last couple of years. Mind you, if Gryffindor ever finds a half-way decent Seeker they might be a challenge. They finally trained their Beaters up enough but they lost their Seeker. This year the only way Ravenclaw's Chasers will hold on to the Quaffle is if someone magically binds it to them. And Hufflepuff lost five out of seven people. Diggory's quite good as a Seeker but their only chance is if he catches the Snitch before their line-up is completely obliterated."

The younger boy was quite for a second before drawling ever so slowly, "You know, this all might mean a bit more if I knew what was so special about Beaters, Chasers, and Seekers."

Warren scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I guess you really did mean you didn't know the rules. No worries; there are four balls. Two balls—called bludgers—go after everyone. Beaters—two of them—bat the bludgers at each other or at other members of the opposing team with. One quaffle is passed around three Chasers. One Keeper protects the hoops from scoring quaffles. And finally the Seeker looks for the Snitch, earning a hundred and fifty points and usually winning the game."

"I take it it's the general idea to help the Seeker of their broom?"

Warren gave a ruthless smile. "It's definitely a workable strategy."

Harry couldn't help but be amused. "There's nothing like a game that's already rigged in your favor? I _should _probably say something about it not being fair."

"Should?" Warren prodded, deciding right them that the Boy-Who-Lived was nothing like the Harry Potter sitting next to him. Whoever betted the boy would be a Gryffindor never had a chance. And Warren thought, given half a chance, he might like Harry Potter.

"It works, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," A quick smile flashed across Warren's face as up in the air one of the Seekers narrowly avoided a close encounter of the Bludger-kind. "So tell me little Ravenclaw, why are you here playing Slytherin games? You're a smart boy, no? Surely you know what the Circle is really about?"

Warren wasn't a Slytherin for nothing as sly eyes landed on a coolly amused Marcus Flint; his figure surrounded by boys and girls who would grow to be quite prominent or at least powerful figures in the Wizarding World.

"Haven't you heard?" There was something entirely too mocking about the tone the boy used. "I'm Muggle-raised; I'm so impressionable I'll believe _anything_."

Warren laughed. "I take it half the things I've heard about you are as useful as dragon dung."

"Well…" A half-smirk flashed almost too fast to catch. "Isn't dragon dung supposed to be miracle fertilizer? But really, I'm new too all this—not an idiot."

"So if nothing I know is true and everything I think is colored by an icon, how did Flint ever figure you to be something more than a pretty face?"

"Who says I'm not just that?"

Warren studied Harry with exaggerated care. "A little runty, not enough muscle; huh, I suppose the glasses have charm. The scar would be a negative if it wasn't so famous. Give it a few years, avoid the sun, and you might have what it takes to be a chocolate frog-eating windbag living off the misses' money."

"Gees Warren, with you around who needs Career Counseling?"

Startled both boys looked behind them. She was a thin girl, tall to the point of being gangly. Her features were too large to ever be pretty in a classical sense although Harry had never met someone with such fascinating honey-colored eyes.

Warren rolled his eyes. "Meet Helena Blair, Forth-Year, Hufflepuff—although who fed the Sorting Hat dragon weed when it did _that_ I don't know."

The girl sat down, awkwardly trying to contain limbs that seemed to escape her at every turn. "Always such a charmer. You're still sore I keep beating you in Potions."

The boy huffed before jokingly adding, "Snape should at least have the decency to sabotage other students work so a Slytherin can get top marks."

The look Blair gave Warren could only be described as foul. "What are you talking about Warren? I still got top marks with him _trying_. Snape hates everything that wasn't born into this world clutching a baby snake."

Harry couldn't help but snort at the matter-of-fact tone. Snape was universal. Harry himself had probably single-handedly ruined any chance Ravenclaw had at winning the House Cup.

"And who's your little friend?"

"Harry Potter, First-Year, Ravenclaw." Harry interjected before Warren could open his mouth.

Predictably honey-eyes flicked up to Harry's neat fringe, his scar concealed as always, before she flushed slightly under the bored look the younger boy send her. "Hey! Didn't you curse half the Ravenclaw first-years with some golden mess."

A potion student enthusiast, Helena couldn't help herself as eager fingers twitched to grab a handful of duo-colored strands. Green-eyes fixed her with a hard stare before appearing to decide something. Helena didn't know what to make of the feeling.

"It was a Potion's accident."

Helena laughed. "Bugger that; I _know _Potion accidents and they are usually a lot more messy and a lot more painful than two dozen kiddies with an odd mess on their heads. Besides, practically nothing in a first-year lab kit has what it takes to do this."

Harry's face was bland of any mischief though Helena couldn't help but notice bubbles of laughter that seemed to float up to moss green-eyes from a great depth. "And why would I deliberately sabotage my own Potion? It simply isn't very considerate to the all the hard _Professor_ Snape does trying to teach us potions. Potions that might very well save our lives one day. Heaven only knows we're all liable to drown in our morning shower."

Helena gave a ringing laugh, everything about her seemingly larger than normal. Harry knew her to be the most brilliant Potion student since Severus Snape himself. It was a given the girl would be apprenticed to a Potion Master as soon as her Hogwarts' certificate was dry. No thanks to the bitter fortitude Snape implored each time he saw the Hufflepuff girl. He certainly wasn't going to give a Hufflepuff any advantage by cultivating her interest in the subject.

Warren wiped an imaginary tear. "My Head of House is largely misunderstood."

Unsurprisingly Helena Blair and Harry were unimpressed.

"Why you persist in defending—Lestrange! What's the bloody idea?" For a second Harry saw the ground before his head snapped up, the back of his collar clutched in the cold hand of 'Lestrange'. Still twisted away from his attacker Harry could only see the faces of a furious Helena Blair and wary Warren Reed.

"And what have we here?" Even Harry could tell Lestrange was sneering. "Itty-bitty Potter thinks he can come play here."

The constant chatter and bubbling laughter had fallen silent. Harry knew they were watching him now; these privileged children who were flirting with their own self-importance. So Harry did the only thing he could. He relaxed. His collar pulled tight as Lestrange fumbled with his hold, fingers no doubt stretching his favorite sweater in odd places.

Harry had never been one to count on others to get him out of trouble. Even if some in the crowd were inclined to help him they were smart enough to try and defuse the situation less they break the wary House truce that made the Circle possible.

Harry had done his research—thoroughly, thoughtfully, and meticulously. He'd practically memorized the list of suspected Death Eaters. He had made it a point to find out which of the children he would be sharing a boarding school with came from questionable pasts. Lestrange had been easy to spot. Sylvan Lestrange, Fifth-Year Slytherin; his birth was announced more as a scandal than any real proclamation. The son of the youngest Lestrange daughter (a girl herself barely out of school and unwed to boot) should have been shuttled off to some small Wizarding school and forgotten. An unpleasant blip on the family legacy; true till the day the elder Lestrange brothers had been convicted of the torture of two Aurors, earning lifelong sentences that were sure to rob them of their sanity. Besides a decrepit great-aunt or two, Sylvan Lestrange was all that remained of the once grand family and the last to bear what had become a distasteful name.

First thing first, Harry had to think. He needed for Lestrange to let him go. He needed something flashy enough that it would make the boy wary of Harry and simple enough a First-Year could theoretically do.

And the air shrieked as it twisted to his will. Lestrange grip was gone. All around startled shrieks erupted as surprised students felt an icy wind bite exposed skin. A powerful funnel of wind had erupted between both boys, gossamer power fluttering as it took shape. A startled Lestrange was send tumbling to the ground and Harry skidding as he found his balance.

Harry turned to face the boy. Ice-blue eyes glared from ruffled black hair, his image calling forward an odd familiarity Harry couldn't explain.

"Lestrange," Harry drawled softly, starring down at the other boy as he recalled every lesson in snobbery he'd ever seen. "I wasn't aware you were so eager to meet me."

A few snickered from behind as ice-blue eyes narrowed. "I've a score to settle with you, you little brat."

"If you really feel it necessary…I'm sure all these witnesses won't mind turning around. Or were you just planning on throwing a couple of harmless jinxes, a little something to show us all what someone can do against a First-Year."

The boy snarled as he got back on his feet. "You're the reason my uncles are in Azkaban. I intent to pass on their regards. _Anax Rebolis_!"

A wicked flash of purple light spiraled toward Harry. For a second no one knew what they were watching as the earth shifted, a wall of earth springing upward and exploding with a dull thud. Through the dust emerald eyes met icy-blue head on, both boys clutching wands defensively.

"How's it feel Lestrange? Attacking a first-year?" Helena finally jeered from the sideline, having successfully escaped Warren's attempt to hold her back and keep her silent.

Lestrange's face contorted. "_Expellimerus! Taratengella! Seperumtiosa!"_

Harry twisted to avoid the first spell, twirling his wand as the earth reformed. Silica grains shifted, reformed and replicated. The mount of earth shimmered once before a quartz wall reformed, a pale pink color giving it a soft shine. The spells were absorbed, beautiful lights twisted into the crystal structure. From all sides the quartz glowed with yellow and green lights as the magic bounced from point to point, amplifying all the meanwhile till it glowed a searing white. Harry frowned, he had to be careful now. His fingers twisted in one hand as the other clutched his wand. Individual crystals shifted and turned to prevent the magic from dissipating into the ground and in a second…he let it go. It crackled into the ground, exploding earth obscuring the figure of Lestrange as the magic ripped the ground apart.

Sylvan Lestange had never seen anything like this. Crystals themselves were Fourth-Year Transfiguration and even then he'd never seen it done on such a scale. Starring incomprehensibly at the magic racing toward him he could only remember the words of his Ancient Runes professor. '_Crystals store and magnify spell work, it is why they are so often used as keystones for wards and diagrams. Leaching magic from crystals however is done with much care as they tend to react explosively when the crystal chains are broken._' Funny, Professor Aldwin must have meant something like this. A second later he was flying, arcs of white-colored magic dancing across his body and numbing what skin they touched before flickering away.

And like that the impromptu duel was over in a matter of minutes. In the aftermath a shaking Sylvan trembled as he hauled himself to his knees, blind hands looking for the wand he'd dropped.

"Enough." Harry didn't jump as the artic voice hissed from besides him. "Lestrange—you've had your shot at him. You'll to us all the favor of ceasing your disruptive behavior."

Lestrange flushed a dull red and despite being at least two or three inches taller than Marcus Flint the former looked away. Picking up some unseen cue the other students erupted in chatter, the Quidditch game having never even noticed the activity on the ground. Flint leveled a heavy glare on Lestrange as he made himself scarce.

"You've yet to bite with intent, Aspling." Flint commented softly.

Still intense green-eyes stared up at Flint. "S'not something I can get away here. And besides, how can I win something I didn't even care about?"

"That doesn't mean Lestrange doesn't care and if you don't you've given him half the battle. He definitely cares. That family has a reason to hate their disgrace; his mother was jailed on some petty law and a nice chunk of their family fortune was funneled as restitution for the exuberance his uncles indulged in. The only chance Lestrange has at an acceptable marriage is he confounds some foreign witch."

"And thanks to the whole mess I've expectations placed on me by every person I meet to be someone they think I should be. And even if I never amount to more than Groundskeeper my head will be on a pike the second someone wants to make a statement to the Wizarding World as a whole."

Flint studied the Quidditch players up in the air with a feigned interest. "Not to worry Aspling, you'll be the most influential Groundskeeper ever."

Harry rolled his eyes as the older boy moved away, the Quidditch game finally coming to a close. Even if most everyone was getting back to their own business Harry still felt stray eyes trying to pick him apart.

The tense standoff was broken as Helena rushed toward Harry. "I'm sorry—don't think I didn't want to help you, I did!— but if anyone but you and Lestrange did anything it would have been a free for all. And believe me, any bigger brawl and Flint would have had a chat with us afterwards"

Warren followed behind her, an apologetic look saying it all. Looking at the still shredded ground, Warren gave Harry an admiring look. "I heard you were McGonagall's prodigy; didn't believe the old girl was right outside some Gryffindor favoritism."

"I'm not a Gryffindor."

Warren grinned. "That's what you want everyone to think. You don't fool me—I know you're infiltrating the Ravenclaws; no doubt you have some nefariously good plan up your sleeve."

Helena gave the older boy an incredulous look. "And how you figure that?"

"Simple," Warren said, hands fluttering around Harry's head. "Potter here has a shifty-face."

"Dear Merlin, you're a real piece of work." Helena muttered to the heavens. "Honestly, you gave me a fright when Lestrange rounded you up—boy has a terrible temper."

"Aspling!" Three heads turned to the caller, one in recognition and two in surprise. "We're forming new Quidditch teams. You'll fly against me."

Helena gave Flint a confused look before quick understanding had her fluttering around Harry again. "Dear Merlin, have you ever even played Quidditch?"

"I seem to recall this is how you fist learned." Warren quipped from besides Harry.

"And we all know how pleasant that was—broke my arm ten minutes in. The least I can do is keep an eye on you in the air." Helena muttered as she herded Harry toward the forming teams, an amused Warren trailing behind.

Flint rolled his eyes at the sight. "Blair, you'll be useless playing against your chick. You're with McGaven; Reed you're with me."

A blond boy, the supposed McGaven, sighed. If he hadn't seen Potter fly earlier last month he would have thought Flint was deliberately sabotaging his team. That and Flint didn't like playing against teams staffed with talentless idiots (something about the Slytherin team snuffed that temptation).

"Right then," McGaven began as he gathered his seven-person huddle. He quickly divided up the positions. "Potter you'll be a Chaser. Blair—don't give me that look—you're the best Keeper out of all of us."

"Potter—Harry," Helena said as she pulled Harry aside. "Don't worry if you've never played. Most of us only play casually and even those with talent for the most part don't play on a House Team. Honestly, practice three times a week and weekend games would kill anyone's study hours. You'll be using Harper's broom; charm your sweater purple—that'll be our team—here let me do it."

With a push Harry was up in the air, a little hesitant and a little unsure about the whole thing. Flint—acting as a Seeker—grinned at him before zooming into the air. Harry stared at the game, the Quaffle already flying in the air.

"Potter!" A purple-robed girl warned as she flung the ball toward him.

For a second Harry was absolutely sure he would fumble it, mess his team's line-up. Worry was shoved to the side as Harry caught the Quaffle, not even sparing a second as he spiraled away from an incoming Bludger. Spinning away from a depressingly large opposing Chaser Harry figured if he didn't think too deeply he should be fine. Harry shot upward, flying away from a ramming Chaser, letting the Quaffle fly to another purple-robed Chaser. A gray-robed Keeper lunged and missed as the Quaffle flew in through a hop.

Spinning once-more Harry thought he just might like Quidditch.

**S**

The Slytherin Common Room could only be described as dark. Throughout the room sitting lounges were scattered about, empty save the Cicle memberes who'd comanteered the room from its former occupants. There was more than one uninvited Slytherin currently sulking in their dorm room.

In one such area Harry could be found discretely pressing knuckles to his stomach; calling every last shred of will power to stop him from chucking to his stomach's content.

"Merlin's beard, there's something completely depraved about feeding an eleven-year old firewhiskey." Helena complained half-heartedly, lazily rolling an empty shot class. Harry rolled his eyes as he took another deep breath, watery eyes finally clear enough so he could sit back upright.

"Blair, you were the one who gave him the first shot." An equally lazy Warren reminded.

Across the Common Room a set of cards exploded, shrieking students leaning away from a soot-covered boy.

"And I'm a horrible person; my dear mum would trash me herself if she heard about half the things I did here."

"So you're finally going to break the Hufflepuff code of silence and admit to everyone how your House really is just brimming with Britain's finest axe-murderers or my personal favorite, how all the Hufflepuffs are secretly conspiring to take over the Ministry from the inside out."

Helena took another shot, finishing it off with a string of coughs. "I swear you seem to think you're not a proper Slytherin if you're not involved in at least two conspiracies a year."

"Three if we get lucky." The boy quipped. "Potter? You ready for another shot?"

Harry eyed the full shot class Warren offered before plucking Helena's empty one and filling it with some more of the throat-searing, tongue-lashing drink. "If I'm going to drink I should at least trust the glass."

"See?" Warren gestured vaguely to the younger boy. "Slytherins aren't the only ones paranoid."

Harry was proud to say this shot went down a little more easily. Releasing a few puffs of smoke, he rejoined the conversation. "Paranoia is a must if you're spending the afternoon in the Slytherin Common Room."

Helena giggled, easily tipsy this late in the game. "Especially when Harry and I are the only non-Slytherins still here."

"Not true; Daniel O'Connor is still here."

Helena snorted, "I'd take a Slytherin over O'Connor any day."

"Charmed, my dear." Warren toasted her.

A lull in the conversation was broken as soft honey-eyes drifted over to Harry. "Harry, it's a bit late to be saying this but maybe it wasn't the smartest idea to stick so close to us the whole day. It's true enough we're part of the Circle but…"

As the girl fumbled with words Warren smoothly followed, remarkably sober for someone who had been steadily working through the Fire whiskey bottle, "But there's a class and then there's _class_."

Harry rolled his eyes, settling in comfortably against the dark green lounge. Shrugging he answered and hoped they weren't thin-skinned enough to be offended even if they shouldn't be given who they were. "Flint likes me; it doesn't mean squat if someone he won't stand against does something. As Hufflepuff and a half-blood you're both here on talent; talent that hasn't been proven in the world even if everyone can see it's already there. Because of that neither of you will step out of the rules Flint sets less you find yourself uninvited; rules that include letting the little First-Year Ravenclaw live."

Warren smiled fondly, "You're a manipulative little shit, aren't you?"

"You're wrong about something." Helena surmised, immersed in an alcoholic enough mood to be blasé about the whole thing. "Flint does like you enough, 'Aspling'."

Harry flushed lightly at the nickname and couldn't help but think alcohol was relaxing his normal composure. "I've nicknames more bothersome than that one."

"But the Ice Prince didn't invite you here because of your most famous one." Warren whispered, leaning in till the three companions made a tight triad. "You could have been a flamingly powerful bloke but that doesn't mean anything if you're as a dumb as a rock and as shortsighted as a bat. Most of here see more than our little friends. Our world is a rotting thing, made worse because everyone's too afraid to know what's really out there."

"And what would you say?" Harry whispered to Helena.

Her head titled carefully, lids slowly dropping. "Our world is a chained thing, trapped by its expectations."

Harry eyed the two. "And Lestrange, who's as far from you two as can be, what would he say?"

Warren nodded in consideration, automatically glancing around for the missing boy. "Our world is a stagnant thing, too sick to see its power."

Harry titled his head back and shook his head. "And me? What do you think of me?"

Warren grinned roguishly. "I have two lovely words for you—apposing juxtaposition. The boy I met today is very much like the Ice Prince; you're both playing games within games and no one else but you two has a clue as to what you're really doing. But the Boy-Who-Lived is a saintly child who was made in the image of his people or at least how they wished they really were. The thing is you're both of these things and I don't know you well enough to say which face you'll choose when you have to."

Harry leaned back, breaking their circle. He didn't say anything as he took another shot, soft green eyes deceptively placid. Warren just shook his head content to let the moment pass. Helena nodded along, sleepy agreement murmured softly.

"It's about time we take the girl here back to Hufflepuff; she's wasted." Warren finally sighed. Standing up he hefted Helena till she had one arm around him. "Come on Potter, you might want to leave right about now. They're only going to get more idiotic from here on."

Harry looked back at the room that had lost about half of those it originally had. Without thinking about it his eyes sought out Flint. The older boy was smirking cruelly at a younger boy held none too gently by Flint's goons.

"There's always a few idiots that can think to sneak into the Circle." Warren whispered quietly as they made their way out of the Common Room.

Harry looked back at the intruder. A pale boy made paler by the whole situation; ice blond hair was pristinely combed. Harry didn't like the look of the child. For a second pale eyes looked up and glared at Harry before they returned to whatever censure Flint was laying out.

The boy would be trouble. Worrisome if not for the fact there were some half-dozen children in Ravenclaw alone who had mommies and daddies as former or current Azkaban inmates. A fact they no doubt blamed on him.

Like he said, funny.

**S**

It wasn't till the last day before holiday that Harry understood how bothersome that child would be.

"Potter…" The word was savored, powerful and rich, breaking the library silence. "Now, now…where do you think you're going?"

Bored green eyes flickered up to the pale boy. Seemingly unconcerned the black-haired child continued to pack his book bag.

The pale boy just smiled.

"Is there something you wanted Malfee?"

"Malfoy," The boy twitched automatically much to Harry's bemusement. "Draco Malfoy. I wouldn't forget that if I was you."

A black brow arched in idle curiosity.

Besides Malfoy two other boys made themselves even more menacing. It would have been more effective had neither boy possessed more than a passing resemblance to Dudley at his _finest_.

"And your…companions?" Harry drawled softly, pausing long enough for all of them to know that wasn't what he wanted to call them.

"Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe."

"How…quaint." Green eyes flashed briefly, an arrogant tilt to the green-eyed child transforming him from a bookish Ravenclaw to more than a match for whatever scheme brewing.

Malfoy sneered but Harry was pleased to see he'd lost some of his confidence. "Listen well Potter. My father is part of the Board of Directors and let's just say he came upon a recent suspicious medical report. Who should it concern but Hogwarts Golden Boy?"

Harry stared back calmly at the boy even as inwardly he cursed rather creatively. He didn't need pretentious manipulative children thinking they knew all the cards in the game. Harry wasn't about to lose to such upstart threats but he was all too aware making the information widespread had the potential to hurt him. There was a reason the two-day examination had been fobbed off as a bout of flu.

"You seem to think the matter is terribly important." The bored tone seemed to irritate Malfoy more than anything. As it was the pale boy easily flushed.

"And you don't seem to realize what it means. All your little Ravenclaw friends follow you so easily because you're the boy wonder himself. You really think they'll want to sit next to you if they knew what you really are? There are wizards who would not suffer you to live."

_A squib_.

But…Malfoy was still so unsure for someone who should have thought they could ruin Harry.

Harry gave the boy a practiced laugh, sharp and cruel. "And you seem to think I haven't learnt enough magic to make things unpleasant for you."

"Yes," Malfoy spat with no little resentment. "McGonagall's pet, aren't you? Will you transfigure a match into a nettle?"

"Draco Malfoy." Harry murmured softly, carefully considering the boy before him. "So ready to confront me; so ready to see me cower before you. Did you consider what it means when you become an…obstacle in my path?"

Harry Potter was a distorted image. The Boy-Who-Lived and Flint's Aspling. So little substance given to either claim yet neither could be denied. Harry Potter didn't play games lightly.

Finally. There was a hint of wariness in his eyes. Malfoy was Slytherin enough to finally realize the boy with the mismatched talents was more than he reflected. Malfoy was also arrogant enough to continue. "Save the threats when I don't hold your dearest secrets in my hand. You'll do well to remember that. After all, it would be such a shame if everyone was to learn your little secret."

Sneering for parting sake the boy sauntered out, his grunting brutes quick on his heels. Somewhat bemused Harry watched the flushed boy glare hotly once before disappearing entirely. Inscrutable green-eyes watched the whole proceedings without betraying a thought.

"My dearest secrets…" Harry quietly mocked, slender hands picking up his book bag and two library books that caught his interest. Deep within him a powerful force curled, restless with the threat it sensed. Harry, having never really known what he carried, subconsciously soothed that power till it settled back into his core.

The boy, trouble that he was, was still not worrisome though no doubt he would be plenty of trouble. Still he was a parrot who said words heard from his father's lap; no real understand but plenty of suspicion. His father though...no amount of money could ever completely hide the plots Lucius Malfoy dealt in. And his attention was worrisome.

**S**

**TBC….**

**19 November 2006**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: You know it. I don't own it. Don't make me write the nasty long disclaimer.**

**S**

_You will come visit for the holiday. Vernon's supervisor has passed on a formal invitation for the Dursley Family and nephew to an important Christmas ball._

_I have given much in the name of your mother. Honor her debt. _

_Petunia Dursley_

The envelope was tattered; the marks of clumsy hands leaving the once pristine white paper wrinkled a vanilla color and marred by the odd dark smudge.

It was the wizards' regard for Outside post.

The envelope had been sent to Briggen Falls, the nearest Outside town. Hogwarts maintained a drop box for Outside post there, most often care of the frustratingly helpless parents of Muggleborns. From there an Owl Carrier collected it and sent it on to Hogsmeade Post Office where it was attached to owls and sent up to the school.

After more days than should be necessary Harry found himself rereading the frankly mystifying letter.

For someone as paranoid as he was becoming Harry wasn't slow to think it a plot by some early bird intent on seeing his end come over the break. The letter was short, empty of any endearment, and marked by his lovely aunt's singularly frigid attitude. She'd written a total of one letter to him in all his life but those four sentences left him absolutely convinced only she could have written this. Even his name was missing; anything to keep from saying his name in any way that could be misunderstood as fondness. There was also the matter of a debt; one incurred on behalf of his mother. As mystifying as it was it was further proof. It would be a cold day in hell before Petunia would mention the man who'd fathered the son of her sister. Little nuances an imposter had no way of knowing or even replicating. Not Petunia and all her icy haughtiness.

So Harry, who was starting to get tired of all the sideway glances, was in an interesting position. He just happened to be bored enough to accept.

Glory be unto fools. His relatives would suffer his presence and he there's; no doubt one of them would come to regret it dearly before long. That just happened to be Harry's charm.

December was a bitter time as cold seemed to invade even the charmed classrooms. It only got worse the closer the holiday came. There weren't many that signed up to stay for the holidays; just enough to have annoyed Harry.

Honestly he thought they'd get a life by now. Wasn't it enough to know their Child Wonder attended the same classes as they did? Did they even realize how many of their wandering eyes landed on him whenever he entered a room?

It was enough to drive someone to distraction. Either that or spurt out more than a few feats off magic, not always accidental. Professor Sprout still hadn't figured out how a layer of snow ruined Greenhouse Eight—without breaking a single window. And even if more than a bit of magic goaded the winter storms that came unending no one sensing the phenomenon had a clue where it was coming from.

And people had noticed. Most of the professors had sensed the biting winds and sheets of rain trailed more than an explained amount of magic and even a few of the more sensitive and aware older students knew something to be amiss. Still nothing could be divined.

Harry's magic was failing to structurally build itself; never understanding even in the most primate level the process that was slowly forming his classmates into the wizards and witches they would one day be by reenforcing their natural gifts. And yet had he know he still wouldn't have been terribly disappointed. His magic was also failing to disconnect itself from the magic that surrounded him, both that originating from casters and from nature. It was yet to seen if this was a good or bad thing.

Harry never knew why an unknown presence diminished that rainy day as he traveled on the Hogwarts Express for the second time. Only that something that weighed him was gone having never even realized it could be heavy in the first place. In the background Hogwarts retreated.

"Father is taking us to France for the holiday." Padma chatted absently, resigned to entertaining herself as Li read and Harry dozed. She'd had plenty of moments during the school semester to wonder just what that boy did when he disappeared; he was always sleeping. "We've only been there when I was small so I don't remember much of trip but father said we had quite a lot of fun back then. Honestly I have nothing against my sister's friend but I can't be thankful enough Lavender's family won't let her travel away for the holiday. That reminds me, Harry, you prat, wake up."

For his part Harry was unceremoniously woken up as a rolled up paper knocked him soundly on the head. He blinked at the Indian girl.

"Good." She said unrepented. "You're awake. You'll never believe what my sister gave me. It's the stupid rag she raves about—_Witch Weekly_—look on page four."

Harry fumbled, still somewhat dazed, as the paper was tossed. Besides him Li lowered her book and peered at the crinkled magazine Harry flipped through.

And nearly gagged when he read the article.

**Harry Potter: Are You the Girl for Him?**

Scanning the questionnaire (and incidentally learning that a fun-loving girl had a seventy percent chance of landing her very own Harry Potter) he continued on to the next article.

**Mrs. Harry Potter and What She Stands to Inherit.**

"I'm eleven!" Harry croaked out, shocked eyes starring incredulously at the print. Marriage? He nearly shuttered at the image of Vernon calling Petunia 'Pet' and exchanging a holiday kiss. Needless to say his first-hand knowledge of marriage had him lobbying for birth control. His relatives just weren't meant to contribute anything beneficial to society. Sample sited: Subject A—Dudley Dursley

"Read it." Padma practically gloated. "It gets quite good."

Harry glared at the grinning girl. He knew she's showed this to him just to bait him. He read.

_There is much speculation over the subject of the Boy-Who-Lived, recently returned from his decade-long seclusion. Currently enrolled in his first-year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly, young Harry Potter is rumored to be a well-liked and respectful student._

_In a few years young Mr. Potter will enter society as an adult, no doubt with a bright future. But what doest this mean for you? Simple; Mr. Potter might very well announce his presence with the hand of a young lady on his arm. As this writer found out becoming Mrs. Harry Potter comes with more than the prestige. Based on several inquiries an estimate was composed on what Mrs. Harry Potter stands to inherit. The answers might surprise you._

_Harry James Potter._

_**F**ather: James Harry Potter _

_Family: _Aethelward and Thrytheald

_**M**other: Lily Camille Potter_

_Family: Muggle-born_

_**T**rust Account: estimated to be worth 2.4 million galleons_

_**P**ersonal Account: estimated to be worth more than 6 million galleons_

_Britain's Ministry of Magic settlement for the defeat of You-Know-Who: 2.000.000_

_Austria: 100.000_

_Bothnia Republic: 50.000_

_Germanic Empire: 800.000_

_Greece: 10.000_

_Ireland: 500.000_

_Iceland: 1.500.000_

_Italia: 200.000_

_France: 625.000_

_Spain: 500.000_

_Romania: 25.000_

_Russia: 300.000_

_**F**amily Account: _

_Rumors have long since existed about the Potter Family fortune, having never been confirmed. Popular theories guess the family fortune to be anywhere from totaling a net worth of 30 million galleons to as much as 50 million._

_One thing remains clear. Mrs. H. J. Potter will no doubt be a very lucky lady._

Harry held the magazine like it would bite him. The stupid vultures were already betting what it was worth to shag him?

He didn't know; didn't know what to think, what to feel. He'd known things like this happened. Fairfax Academy had its share of ridiculously titled and wealthy. But never him. Never the mean little child, not the scholarship boy, and certainly not the delinquent nephew. He'd known plenty of petty brats too caught up in their self-importance to hide their distain. He'd just never thought he'd one day share something in common with them.

Padma's smile faded as she took in the horrified look Harry gave the paper. "Don't pay it any mind. It's only unfounded speculation."

Li's steady look was a lot more understanding. Ink stained fingers tapped the second article. "It's this that has her so excited."

"How much I'm worth?" Harry asked slowly, easy green eyes darkening in contemplation.

"Not that." Padma assured quickly, a little nervously. Funny, this conversation wasn't going at all like she'd hoped. "Just the funny face some of those awful prats kept making after the article came out."

"They didn't think I was worth any gold?" Harry repeated, his expression more bland than ever. Padma couldn't remember Harry looking so remote. And she thought, maybe she didn't know him as well as she'd believed.

"Well honestly, no." Padma finally said, a little annoyed at the whole conversation. It'd been a joke; and now Harry was looking as unfriendly as he had the first day of school. "I mean, you're always dressed in Muggle clothes. You never join the snobs flaunting the latest robes, you hardly ever get any post, and you've never even mentioned so much as a galleon."

Harry handed the girl back the paper, his expression not changing. And Padma had the wild urge to do…anything. Mess up his hair, pinch his cheeks, even kiss the stubborn boy—anything to make him stop looking at her like he didn't know her.

"It wasn't anyone's life to know." Harry finally said, calmly and so distantly. "And I thought they knew: I have little patience for twits."

Padma looked away. Harry stared at the girl a second longer before he too looked out the window. In the silence the crinkle of pages sounded loudly as Li flipped a page.

Harry blinked at the passing trees. "What funny faces?"

Padma gave the younger boy a smile even as she resigned to letting the matter drop. Harry was just the type of boy who wouldn't talk about matters that anyone else—girls, perhaps—would have cleared up with some understanding and maybe an apology. "You know them. There's Anthony—the Goldsteins are worth about 8 million. The know-it-all Turpin is something like 15 million. Entwhistle has something like 6 million. All the rich brats and you're _persona_l account levels with them. Even that snotty Malfoy's family is worth something like 40 million. They're so used to throwing around sickles for the smallest thing they want; none of them thought you might be like them."

"I'm like them now?"

Padma mock scowled. "Yes Harry. You're a stuck-up arse. Wait, you really are a stuck-up arse."

Harry gave her a small smile. "But only for the right reasons."

"I suppose that makes it alright."

The magazine had been rolled up and stuffed in a discarded book bag. The issue of money tucked away. Harry had guessed long ago what the Li and Patil Families could claim; one the daughter of an ambassador, the other the daughter of a Healer. Ten years ago a wizard had terrorized Europe, country after country had set up bounties for his capture or death. And then an oblivious baby had broken his power.

"What's in Iceland?" Harry asked, remembering one of the larger bounties handed over to him.

"Iceland?" Li repeated.

"I mean the reward given by Iceland is the second largest, right after Britain. What's in Iceland?"

"You mean Reykjavik?"

"Oh! My aunt visited two years ago. She said it has the loveliest hot springs."

Li took on a lecturing tone. "Nicknamed the Wizard's playground in the 19th century, the magical section of Reykjavik was founded by Ludwig Ragnhildur and became a haven for the new aristocrats, or new wealth. Since then it has only grown to become a recreational hub and the site of Eysteinn Institute of Magic—the first Wizarding university. A lot of research and development firms are based out of Reykjavik since the ruling Ragnheiðrcouncil has always held more favorable laws."

"Not to mention the home of the World Quidditch Association." Patil added.

"It is logical Reykjavik would have offered such a high bounty—a lot of New Families and talented Muggle-borns from all over the world find their way there."

All three glanced up as their compartment door opened.

"Eh…" A nervous boy shifted under their scrutiny.

"Lang-Longbottom?" Padma asked.

"Y-yes. I've lost my toad—Trevor. Have you seen him?"

"A toad?" Padma smirked back at Harry. "Well come on in; sit down."

"But I have to find Trevor." The boy protested weakly as he obediently followed the girl's prodding.

"Don't worry about that. You want to help him out Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes even as he reached to his side, the one next to the window. Picking Trevor up in one hand he dropped him on his shoulder. The toad croaked as he turned to face his wayward owner.

"The toad is always looking for Potter, here." Li confided as she went back to her book.

"Bit of a joke, that."

Neville gave his pet an aggravated look. "Thanks for finding him."

Padma rolled her eyes as Harry settled once more; legs comfortably propped up on the opposite bench, eyes already closing. "So Longbottom, where are you going for the holiday?"

The boy coughed. "Home, I guess. My Gran usually hosts a ball on New Years but we don't really do much."

"Your Gran wouldn't happen to be Augusta Longbottom, would she?"

Neville blushed. "That's her."

"She's a…very strong lady."

The boy grimaced. "That, too."

Harry dozed to the sound of the chatting duo. Something about an annual party and an extensive guest list. Distantly he remembered a will and the name of his godmother. Alice Longbottom. He briefly wondered if this Longbottom knew the woman. It wasn't really important, not if her current address was a Long-Term Ward.

**S**

The next time he woke the sun's rays had faded. The sound of soft laughter tinkled, Padma's familiar good-humor mixed in with Neville's rare enjoyment. Harry hadn't really thought about it but he usually saw Neville worried about one thing or another. Always stuck with the fear that he wasn't good enough or smart enough to keep what was his.

Neville never learned to take.

"—then my Cousin starts looking awfully green. Now it probably would have been alright if her baby sister hadn't stolen Uncle's wand and sparked the linen tablecloth. So the table's on fire, Aunty is yelling at the top of her lungs, and Cousin's suitor is looking just awfully confused. The suitor does the chivalrous thing and tries to save Cousin; I don't know how he ignores just how green she is by then. So he pulls her up and she hurls all over his face. He's standing like an idiot, she's absolutely horrified, and by then that awful western dress she insisted on is fluttering about and smoking at the ends. Uncle tries to fix the whole thing and douses the whole lot with a ridiculous water charm. And you believe what she did? Cousin screams like a banshee, picks up a cantle-stick and swings it around like a club, giving the Suitor a horrible bruise."

"So what happened to the suitor and your cousin?" Neville asked, enthralled by the story the Indian girl was practically weaving in front of him. Her own hand raised like she held the imaginary cantle-stick.

"As polite as you can imagine her baby sister picks up a napkin, crawls up on a chair, and wipes the suitor's mucky face. So far he's got this stupefied look on his face; so he solemnly thanks the little girl, bows to Uncle and practically runs out of there. Rumor has it that he got blindly drunk with some mates and that's how he ended up in a caravan making its way through Egypt."

"Egypt?!"

"I know. He couldn't explain it either."

Harry rubbed his fingers over grimy eyes. He really shouldn't have snuck around the castle last night for so long but as it was most of the hall monitors were off indulging in some holiday cheer. It had been too good an opportunity to pass up.

"We'll be in London in half-an-hour." Li informed him calmly without looking up. Harry had to wonder how she did that.

"Merlin, it's absolutely frigid." Neville shuttered, burrowing into his outer robe.

Still wearing his school robe Harry shrugged at the other three heavily robed students. He hadn't noticed.

"At least Father will be portkeying us home. I'm liable to freeze on the station as soon as I set foot there." Padma complained.

Neville having lost his shyness somewhere, answered. "Gran's flooing us home but the lines for the floo are always long. She isn't very good with side-apparation."

"What about you?" Padma asked Li.

The Chinese girl flipped her book close. "Ministry car; there's always a couple of cars on loan from the Ministry to drive students out to Rowena's Square."

"Harry?"

"Taxi."

"Who's Taxi?" Unsurprising considering they were purebloods.

"Not a who; a what. Taxi cab."

"You mean like the Knight Bus?" Neville asked and didn't draw back when Harry looked at him squarely. Boy was improving.

"Not nearly as nauseating. There is an equivalent of the Knight Bus but a Taxi is just a private cab which will take you where you want for a fare."

There were no more questions. Of the three only Neville could consistently expect his family to meet him. The girls' father's worked intense job and Harry…Harry's relatives were liable to let him freeze for an hour or five. At least their passive-aggressive issues were a lot more agreeable than their past behavior.

"First off: robes aren't the clothes of choice." Harry confided as he pulled off his own robe. At least his Wizarding cloak looked normal enough to pass off any strangeness as fashion. On the upside it was tailored made and unmistakably of good quality. A good thing since there was always the chance his would-be Taxi driver would shrug him off as another penniless prankster.

Stuffed into his cloak pockets were fine black gloves and a matching scarf and knit cap. With his white buttoned dress shirt peaking out Harry was reasonably comfortable he looked enough like clueless boarding school brat to warrant some sympathy and an unquestioned ride home.

"_Now arriving at King Cross Station. Baggage can be retrieved on the platform. Students are reminded no magic is to be performed over the holiday."_

In the influx of people it was easy to lose a young student. Every distinctive feature was wrapped save emerald eyes that were careful to fade into the background. Not to say leaving Platform 9 ¾'s was any easier. There were still too many clinging mothers, irritable fathers, and exhaustively hyper younger brats fluttering about. Among tearful reunions and boastful retellings he left for the Outside platform.

Harry liked to pretend he wasn't resentful. Some days it worked.

The payphone line was equally the most nerve-wracking and boring event of the day. Not only did he have the irritable urge to hunch over each time a too-loud too-odd child wandered by but an infernal girl spend nearly ten minutes swearing to mummy she had quit smoking even as she twirled an unlit fag with practice.

Finally. He shot her a foul glare for parting sake.

"_Gyerson Taxi Service. How may I help you?_"

"I need a Taxi. Pickup at King Cross Station to Surrey."

"_And your name is_?"

"Harry Dursley."

"_Thank you Mr. Dursley. Your cab will be waiting for you in ten minutes_."

**S**

The next morning it was clear something had settled over the house on Number Four Privet Drive. Vernon Dursley, whose swagger was a timed thing, left the house that morning stiff and flushed angrily. More than one neighbor witnessed him gear his car angrily, fender scratching offensively as the car left the driveway. Those who saw Petunia Dursley that morning couldn't help but comment to sympathetic friends how she looked, thin-lipped and fidgety.

That afternoon Dudley Dursley returned from Smeltings.

There was no real point to reading in the family room. A casually dressed Harry flipped the page on one of his Library books; out of the corner of his eye Vernon twitched a little bit more. Vernon had opened his mouth at least five different times, no doubt to bellow something unpleasant, and could only grind his teeth each time. There really was no real benefit in reading in the family room; Harry couldn't concentrate and Vernon would be hard-pressed to repeat the evening news. It was not to say Harry didn't enjoy baiting his dear relative.

Vernon nearly jumped like a scalded cat when the front door slammed open. Harry hid a smirk.

"Dudley-dear!" Petunia's welcome drifted in from the hallway. "Did you have fun saying hello to all your friends?"

His answer was too low to hear but not even that could disguise the petulant tone.

"You should take some flowers with you for Mrs. Polkin if you want to go for dinner. I'll arrange some for you tomorrow; it wouldn't do for her to think you're from common stock, dear. Go into the family room, you're father and I have some things to talk over with you."

If anything Dudley had grown since the last time the two cousins had seen each other. Both boys eyed each other; Harry with a malicious interest and Dudley with a growing surliness.

A second later Petunia entered; spine stiff and instinctive disapproval the second she spotted Harry. "Vernon, turn off the telly. I think it's time we discussed the _rules_ with the boy and Dudders."

"Yes, yes." Vernon puffed. "I will be representing Gunnings at an industry party hosted by some _very_ important people. It could be a very important move for me if all goes well. This means both of you will be on your best behavior. Am I understood?"

"I don't want to go." A predicted whine bleated out.

"Dudley, don't you want your father to get a promotion?" Petunia cajoled.

The sullen face did not chance. "But it's _his_ promotion. Why do_ I_ have to go?"

"The invitation was for the whole family. You'll have a lovely time Dudley; I'm sure you'll meet all sorts of wonderful children. Maybe you'll even see someone from Smeltings there—Smeltings _is_ such a well-reputed school. "

"What'll you get me if I go?"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As subtle as a jackhammer. Not that Harry could blame him; it was practically the same route he was plotting.

If anything Vernon puffed up in ridiculous pride. "That's my boy—know what you're worth."

"We know how much you've wanted your own computer. I'm sure it will be incredibly helpful doing your schoolwork."

"But it'll be _boring_ if I don't have any games."

"Never accept anything half-way." Was Vernon's kern of wisdom.

Petunia cooed to her little Dudders. "Now that's a surprise but I sure you'll like your Christmas presents very much."

"Fine." Dudley conceded. "But does _he_ have to go?"

Yes, let's include the freak.

Vernon seemed to draw some deep disgruntlement from within. He'd never been a handsome man, the ugly sneer on his face wasn't doing him any favors. "Boy, don't think you're coming along for any reason other than the invitation said so. You'll hear me now; I want no funny business or mark my words you'll regret it."

His mocking smile send something bitter down Petunia's throat. "What will you give me?"

"You…you! You're blackmailing us!" Vernon sputtered, spittle flying. "After everything we've done for you. You'd be nothing but a ruin had we not taken you in out of the goodness of our hearts. There's plenty of fine folk who wouldn't have done half as much."

There was something dark in Lily's eyes. "Like you said _Uncle_, never accept anything half-way. Why should I do as you say when I don't even care to hear it in the first place?"

Vernon's face flushed unpleasantly.

"Harry," There was something strangled in the stance Petunia took, half standing straight and half leaning away. "_Please_. Vernon let me talk to the boy alone for a moment. There's a new pie on the kitchen counter; why don't you and Dudley have a bit of a snack before supper?"

Vernon glared at Harry fiercely before doing his best to stalk out of the room. Dudley hardly looked back once food entered the conversation. Petunia stood up, following in their wake and softly closing the doors that opened into the family room. Harry idly twirled his book, to the eye appearing to lounge lazily.

_Lily's eyes had never looked so_, was all she could think. Never so cold; never so uncaring. She had never been a girl who could abide thoughtless deeds. It was a quality Petunia had most admired and hated. Strange, even if it shouldn't be, that Lily's son was less like his mother than she imagined.

The boy looking up at her made no motion to speak, calmly waiting for her to dig out words she wouldn't say.

"What do you want?" She finally whispered.

And the boy who could have asked for family, could have asked for love, could have even asked for a place in their home did none of that. He had forgotten such foolish things long ago. So the boy smiled an unpleasant smile and said, "Nothing."

His expression held a sort of cruelness given to children with none of their blind attachment. "All the worse for you, I want nothing. But I don't give freely; whatever I ask and however much it costs you it will be worth nothing but I'll want it all the same."

Cruel un-child; made in her ignorance and bathed in her neglect.

"What sort of thing will you ask of us?" Was her wary reply. Always read the fine print when making a deal with a devil.

"Nothing so simple but you'll give it to me all the same. I ask a favor to be held till a time I should need it."

Petunia's face tightened in displeasure. "I swear it."

Lily's eyes had never been so dark.

"And you will be taking Dudley to buy a new suit?" He asked. "Then you will give me a ride as well."

At this she balked. "Wait just a minute. Dudley is going to get a fine suit. I hardly think we should pay when you won't need such things at the…place you go."

"But I've always wanted a funeral suit." Harry goaded her. "I won't wear some second-hand thing dug out of a rubbish pile. I've enough spending money given to me and if need be you will pay the difference."

Petunia choked on her objections, letting loose a strangled agreement. She had a feeling the whole mess was going to come back and haunt her.

**S**

Opened in 1865, Langham Hotel, Marlyborne, London, was Europe's first Grand Hotel. It hosted royalty, foreign dignitaries and celebrities in luxury for over 140 years. Restored and reopened as the Langham Hilton Hotel (1) it was destined to become one of the leading hotels in the world.

And on the night of December the twenty-first it was the scene of a gala hosted by Princeton Carmel, a banking mogul. Decked in Victorian elegance the Langham ballroom gave the air of money and expectations. For the nearly four hundred guests attending it was a night to broker deals, introduce blushing girls and swaggering boys, gossip about the latest fad, and flaunt the newest acquisition whether it be a business deal or a trophy wife.

For Vernon Dursley, whose invitation was more a product of chance than talent, the gala could be the key to a promotion. Both of his immediate supervisors had bowed out; surprising how two broken legs and back surgery could waylay one. Unknown to Vernon he had been chosen mostly on the fact he was a family man, something that the board of directors hoped gave the air of financial stability. They might have reconsidered that thought if they'd seen the three people that followed Vernon into the Langham Hilton.

Twelve years his junior, Petunia looked more his age than her own. Dressed in a conservative black dress and shawl she was too old to be a trophy wife and too young to be an established matron. She was every inch the gracious wife but in circles where scandal and fashion were common threats she was left fumbling.

The two boys that followed them were as different as night and day. Blond Dudley, growing and straining the human form, was the awkward image of a pre-pubescent boy. His wide-eyes caught every foreign vestige of wealth on display, evidence enough he wasn't used to such things. Dark Harry reserved where his companions strained with wonder; dignified when his relatives caught sight of a scandal brewing. Walking alongside his relatives he fit the image of a misplaced child.

Both boys wore tailored suits; Dudley because his size was a slap to proportion and Harry because he was leaner than standard. Rather than suffer too long sleeves and dragging pant legs Petunia had allowed the tailoring. And had the gall to glare at Harry for the purchase even as he paid it out of his own pocket.

If Harry hadn't been so uncomfortable during dinner he would have laughed at the Dursleys predicament. It didn't really help when Dudley rapidly stuffed his face giving no regard for concoctions that harbored several delicacies. There wasn't much one could do on the fly when confronted with four different forks. The evening hassle was worth every second just to watch Vernon sweat over every spoon and fork presented.

"I'm bored." Was the predicted beginning of the evening's entertainment.

"Hush, dear." Petunia hissed quietly, unnatural smile plastered on her face.

"You said I was going to have fun."

"Not now, dear."

Petulant features twisted. Their dinner companions, most of who had been chatting with each other, eyed the increasingly flushed boy.

"Mummy? What's wrong with this dessert?"

Petunia's smile grew more strained.

"Dear," Petunia padded her son's pudgy arm (elbows splayed on the table much to her chagrin). "Why don't you take a walk-about and make some new friends?"

"_Alone_?"

"I'm sure your cousin wouldn't mind going with you." The glare Harry received warned him away from any objections.

"I don't want to go with the fr—ow!" Dudley yelped, betrayed eyes locked on his mother. Her glare only got colder. "Fine; but I want to open a Christmas gift tonight."

"Of course, dear. Now run along and be on your best behavior."

The silverware and glasses rattled for a second as Dudley pushed away. Harry hid a snigger that would not go away. Standing up (with a lot more gracethan his cousin) Harry titled his head to his dear aunt and moved off in the direction Dudley had carved.

As soon as they moved away from the table Harry felt thick fingers clasp his shoulder and just as quickly let go.

"I don't want you to hang around me. Stay away." Dudley puffed threateningly. The effect was ruined by the nervous way he pulled his head back.

Harry rolled his eyes and slipped back into the crowd._ Like he cared_.

For all the pomp and prepping involved it was all quite boring. He didn't recognize anyone and nobody was at all interested in seeing what a child had to say. He drifted through corridors and from column to column.

And this is how he met Gustav Harrow. The single most insignificantly important person to touch his life.

It was actually Dudley's fault to begin with. Not that the blond boy would ever take the news well.

"Where's your mummy and daddy?" Heckled an unknown boy. Harry would have ignored the voice if not for the fact that a second later Dudley's ringing laugh called his attention. Curious now, Harry slipped through chattering adults till he spotted his loveable cousin.

"Does baby want to play?' Continued the same boy with sickly earnestness. At his sides Dudley and another equally useless boy sniggered.

Cornered against a secluded enough wall a boy, oddly taller than his hecklers, mewled softly.

The bully prodded his prey; there was a louder grunt, confusion palpable. Harry didn't move from his spot, not inclined to stick his nose into messes not his own.

"Come on, baby." Another push. "Come on retard, say something."

The boy mewled once more; this time fear made his protest tremble. Harry stiffed, uncomfortably aware of exactly what scene he was seeing being repeated in front of him.

Dudley's laughter abruptly died as a dark head pushed past him.

"Cousin," the coldly remote voice said. "Having fun?"

Dudley's face twisted, instincts telling him to flee and poor brain telling him to put his cousin in his place.

"I'm sure you've all been told to be on your best behavior." Harry sneered. "Mummy would be so very disappointed if she found you lot being…trouble."

Two out of three boys looked uncomfortable.

"You better shut it; I'll tell mum and dad you've been causing trouble again." Dudley threatened.

Harry shrugged carelessly. "Really? Is that supposed to frighten me?"

A stray draft ruffled fat golden curls; Dudley paled. "Come on. Let's leave the freaks to each other."

Dudley did a very impressive job of hauling two confused boys after him. Sighing Harry stared at the boy he'd just protected. There hadn't been any reason to do so. It hadn't mattered; he didn't gain anything by acting yet he'd done it all the same. The boy was taller than Harry if a little thicker in the middle. Soft brown hair hung wildly over a pale face; the only sign things weren't right were slanted, too wide eyes. The boy was two or three years older than Harry but they were nothing alike. His soft face was too innocent, too trusting.

And now he was left here with an innocent-faced boy starring down at him and not a clue what to do. He could leave the boy but it seemed altogether like abandoning a baby. But what was he supposed to do? How could he even hope to occupy him?

"What's your name?"

The boy gave a blinding smile but didn't answer.

"Do you have a name?" Harry repeated.

"Gu-Gus-taf." He even sounded like a too young child.

"Gustav?"

Gustav nodded energetically.

"I'm Harry Potter."

"Ary." The child decided.

And that is how Harry ended up spending an odd two hours; entertaining young Gustav and following him around the ballroom. Several times Harry had to step in to steer his young charge away from upturned nosed moneybags and delicate looking floral arrangements. He never did figure out why he stuck to the child. It was bad enough he followed the boy around each time innocent brown eyes looked at him. Someone might actually mistake Harry for a more amicable child.

"Gustav! Heaven's dear, where have you been? You horrid child, the way you worried me out of my mind." A thin gray woman descended on their little duo, completely oblivious to Harry and the squirming Gustav. The child babbled back to her excitedly.

"That's wonderful dear." She murmured to Gustav. Straightening she send her bag straight at Harry's head. "You horrible boy! Have you any idea the worry I felt when Gustav wasn't in his room? For Gods-sake I thought he was in a ditch! Wait till I get a hold of your parents."

Harry straightened, deliberately smoothing out ruffled hair. "Then you shouldn't have lost him in the first place, you old hag. Goodbye Gustav. It was nice meeting you."

From within the old woman's embrace Gustav waved merrily. "Bye Ary."

Ignoring the woman's confused expression Harry disappeared in the crowd. Honestly, adults.

**S**

"A pleasure, simply a pleasure." Vernon bubbled as he shook the hand of a well-dressed man. At his side Petunia bobbed an odd curtsey and gave their host a simpering smile.

"I'm sure." And like they were dismissed, his attention already on someone else. "Wesley! My boy, I thought I saw you hiding in the crowd."

From his spot near the Dursleys Harry studied the new man. Dark hair was peppered with gray in a surprisingly young face; calm brown eyes never wavered as he greeted Princeton Carmel, the night's host.

"Never hiding, Mr. Carmel. It's easy enough to get lost in the crowd tonight."

"Too true, my boy. None of that Carmel nonsense, call me Princeton; it's the least a family friend deserves. Why, m'boy, I still remember when you were nothing but an ankle bitter. I can still see that ridiculous grin your father had the first time he presented you to me."

"Father always thought of you as one of his dearest friends." The younger man commented softly.

"And I him, m'boy. The old fellow would flay me alive if he thought I wasn't there to help you now. You really must settle the matter, child. Its bad business your health so ill now and only your boy to deal with matters should things turn unfortunate."

The younger man stiffed. "I assure you the matter is being dealt with."

"I don't mean to offend child but you shouldn't let your hard work and that of your father's fall into the hands of useless lawyers. Think of your son, m'boy."

"I know, uncle." Something in the younger man sagged in defeat. "I'm just a foolish man who has to face the possibility of death for the first time."

Aware Harry was ease-dropping on a private conversation (and one that didn't even affect him in the least) he stepped back.

"Come along boy." Thin fingers clawed at his shoulder. Jerking away Harry moved alongside his relatives, Vernon having felt the need to make a last round with the departing guests.

"—wonderful evening." Vernon hurriedly babbled to some unfortunate distinguished guest. "Eh? Right, Vernon Dursley, Gunnings Drills."

Whatever he might have said was lost as a small body slammed into his, sending him straight at whatever distinguished guests he'd been buttering up. Said distinguish guest could only gape helplessly before he was soundly knocked about by Vernon's heavy form.

Vernon swung about, ready to let loose a bellow that would shame whatever miscreant had dared touch him. And only purpled some more when he met the unsteady figure of his wife's nephew.

"When I get home, boy…" Vernon hissed wildly.

Rather than cower the boy gave his guardian a bored look and started to extract familiar arms trying to crush him a bear hug.

Vernon, always one to hone in on any abnormality, flinched back from too-wide eyes. "I suppose you're used to consorting with freaks, boy. We didn't summon you back from your freaky school just so you could embarrass our family. Get rid of this idiot and go wait outside. Mark my words, you set one toe out of line and it'll be off to St. Brutes for you."

"Gustav, come here child." Cool hands deftly extracted the older boy.

"Ary." The child beamed.

"I see you've made a friend." Harry eyed the man who'd been talking to Carmel. 'Wesley' was every inch the refined businessman and next to him Harry couldn't help but feel an ignorant child. But then again, better ignorant than just plain stupidity. Ignorance could be rectified, Vernon couldn't help his condition.

"Now see here," Vernon blustered.

"Excuse my son's enthusiasm. It seems he's misplaced his minder again."

Most everyone else would graciously nod, maybe shake hands with the taxed father, and commiserate over finding good help these days. Vernon wasn't so easily placated.

"I hardly think this is the place you'd take that…child to. Running about and being a plain menace. That boy nearly caused me to level poor Mr. Weston here, not the kind of business one wants in polite company."

Wesley's polite smile turned sharp. "I'm sure, Mr…?"

"Dursley, Vernon Dursley with Gunnings."

"Ah. Something to do with drills, no? Tedious business if I remember; I think Rupert Huntington is representing me in the Board Meetings."

Vernon flushed hotly before paling. Harry didn't bother to hide his amusement. Served the overgrown oaf right.

"And what of you, child?" Harry suddenly found himself the sole focus of intense brown eyes. "It seems my son has had the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"Harry James Potter, sir." He answered the unvoiced prompt. He didn't know what made him introduce himself as he did but he did it all the same. Wesley just seemed the sort of man one gave full answers to.

"A pleasure, young Potter. I am Wesley Bromden Harrow and my son, Gustav Harrow. If you'll excuse me I should find Gustav's nurse. Till we meet again, child."

Vernon could have blown whatever nerve he still had when he saw the condescending look his young nephew gave him. Needless to say life continued as it always had in the Dursley household.

"Bye Ary."

**S**

Christmas came and went. Before they knew it New Years was over and Harry was once more struggling through bothersome crowds as he fought his way to Platform 9 ¾.

"Harry! Harry!" A voice kept shouting till they nearly barreled him over. Hermione beamed excitedly at him, behind her two adults with a faint resemblance to the girl smiled. "Mum, dad, this is Harry Potter. He helped me out last semester when I was in a bit of trouble. I'm also in some of the same clubs as one of Harry's friends, Padma Patil."

"Ma'am, sir." Harry nodded to the couple, not about to release his trunk so they could shake hands. He'd heard enough horror stories about unwary travelers loosing their baggage in a blink of an eye.

"It's nice meeting one of Hermione's school friends. She's told us so much about you, my dear, I feel as I already know you." Mrs. Granger said.

"Are your parents around here?" Mr. Granger broke in.

"My guardian already left. It would be better if we hurry; the Express leaves in twenty minutes and there's a line to check in baggage."

"Of course, dear."

Hermione's parents were nice enough but Harry couldn't stand the coddling they fell into the moment it became clear their baby girl was going away. He fled before they could include him any more in their goodbyes than they already had.

_His_ mother and father were dead, thank you very much. They were idiots for dying but they were his idiots and he didn't want any replacements.

Watching the passing landscape, Padma and Li chatting about some news rag or another, Harry couldn't help but feel distinctly uneasy. Whatever peace that had been his had lasted long enough. Harry sensed things were about to turn ugly.

He blamed the magic.

**S**

**TBC…**

**7 December 2006**

_(1)It was actually reopened in 1991 but I reserve the right to bend reality. And yes it is a part of something called Leading Hotels of the World or something. Kind of nice in a five-star I'll-never-afford-it kind of way._

_Author's Note: Leaving home soon for vacation to rural area (and I mean rural). Might be a while. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Don't own it so don't look at me funny. I'm just passing the time.**

**S**

"The House-Elves are scared witless of feeding that…that creature!"

"Hagrid has assured us many times Fluffy is quite pleasant, my dear." Albus Dumbledore responded calmly. Truth be told he'd had practice with the same conversation; strangely enough it seemed to come up weekly, right about the time someone had to check on the Stone's protections.

"Fluffy?" Was always the strangled disbelief. "Really, Headmaster, housing that…that beast in a school full of children is just calling for trouble. The Weasley twins alone have tripped the proximity alarms twice during the holiday break."

"We have no proof it was them." He reminded her, treacherous twinkle entirely too bemused.

"Don't you give me that look, Albus." Minerva reprimanded with enough ire to remind Albus of his much put upon mother, Pereny. "I know full well it was them. Even by their standards they've been nothing but trouble since term started. And this is not even taking into account that cursed Mirror you insist on dabbling with. For Merlin's sake what gave you the brilliant idea something that drove the majority of its owners mad belonged at all in a school full of children?"

Times like this she fully agreed with the common consensus held concerning just how sane Albus Dumbledore really was. Oh, Minerva fully acknowledged him to be a great man and powerful wizard but sometimes she could not help but think him completely daft.

"I don't think I even want to know what mad plot you have brewing but I want that Mirror moved!" Minerva finished with an exasperated huff. She knew the Mirror's history quite well, having researched it the moment it was brought into her school. And it absolutely terrified her should an overly-curious student stumble over it. The Mirror was a pretty thing but it could not be dismissed harmlessly; it was treacherous to the unwary. Men had wasted before its reflection, ensnared in dreams and fantasies.

"Tell me, my dear, have you ever looked into it?" The infernal man was never one to answer outright.

She stiffened fiercely. "I value my sanity entirely too much to indulge in such foolishness."

"Then you are a smart woman. The Department of Mysteries believes that to look into its depth is an invitation to madness. All too often our greatest desires are our greatest regrets. Given the choice of harsh reality or a dream world, not all of us would be strong enough to turn away."

She eyed the Professor carefully. Hesitantly she asked, "Have…have you taken a look?"

"Alas, at times I let my curiosity rule me too strongly. "

"And what did you see?"

He was quiet for a moment. And then he twinkled, "Lemon drops, my dear."

Hiding her incredulity, she straightened her robes. "Honestly, times like this you do nothing to dismiss rumors of your questionable sanity. I haven't forgotten, Headmaster. When can I expect the Mirror to be moved?"

"Sometimes, my dear, the hardest thing to see is that which is right before your eyes."

She could only refrain from huffing in exasperation.

Two hours later Minerva was not entirely surprised to realize the Headmaster had sidestepped her questions completely.

**S**

_Your father left this in my possession. It was time it was returned to you._

_A friend._

It was one of those odd Wizarding cloaks, intricately stitched in shadows and deceptively bright colors. Harry, who opened the belated gift left on his Ravenclaw bed, eyed the thing warily.

Cursed goblets and enchanted mirrors; bloody-minded stairs and mischievous armor suits. Wizards were certainly daft enough to charm their apparel.

And still the cloak beckoned to be touched. To see if it still carried the scent of his father; to be flung in the air, alight with all that useless anger that never truly went away. _Daddy's gone and it wasn't okay_.

He studied the short note, delicately penned words that were written with old world grace. And wondered if it was all a joke. See if the Ice Prince of Ravenclaw would cuddle a piece of cloth and crack the armor he wore. He wondered if it was an attack of a different sort; jinxed and hexed for a Boy-Who-Lived that never truly existed. But he was still young and for all the caution in the world all he could do was stuff it at the bottom of his trunk, a remnant of a man called Father.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" A boy noisy exclaimed as he dropped a clatter of clothes and sweets on an already cluttered bureau. "Guess fame really does count for something."

"…Goldstein."

"Merlin…" The boy breathed, twitching hands rising half-heartedly. "I can't believe I'm actually seeing one for real."

Harry eyed the other boy. "What exactly are you all exited about?"

"Don't you know? Someone sends you the bloody brilliant cloak and you don't even know?" Needless to say Harry was less than amused at the boy's incredulity. Especially with Goldstein standing right there with that stupid grin that should mean something only it didn't. So the feeling crept over him like a slow tide, a nasty sullenness. It shouldn't be forgotten, Harry had never been a nice boy to begin with. Decked in magical strength could only make him an even more unpleasant child.

"Well…" Goldstein coughed in the horribly silent room. "…well, it's an Invisibility Cloak."

Harry eyed both the boy and cloak with slight distaste. "If it's an Invisibility Cloak, why can I see it?"

Goldstein lightly flushed. "I…I don't quite know now that you mention it. Logically it should be activated by heat…but that doesn't sound right. It's made from Demiguise hair but it doesn't quite work the same way, now…"

Ravenclaws. If given half-a-chance they would deliberately let themselves get tumbled by their own tangents.

Harry sighed as the other boy mused. Pulling the cloak up to eye level he could see silver threat stitched meticulously into odd runes he only vaguely recognized. Flipping the cloak Harry flung it over an unsuspecting Goldstein.

"Now that really is something." He murmured, odd spluttering being the only sign he wasn't alone. Snapping it back revealed a ruffled Goldstein.

"What was that for?" The boy complained. He might be more than a little intimidated by Harry-bloody-Potter but that didn't mean Anthony Goldstein was a pushover.

"It's called a test drive." The younger boy drawled, voice light with amusement, as he folded the cloak into his trunk.

"Err…right." Goldstein coughed again under unusual green eyes. "Anyway, thanks for the sweets. Gave my mum a right coronary when _Harry Potter_ sent me a holiday gift—never mind we've been bunking together for a few months."

Harry nodded dismissibly. Goldstein frowned, unconsciously pouting. Somehow or other his roommate always managed to irritate him. For Merlin's sake he was a Goldstein! So why was it that the Muggle-raised Boy-Who-Lived always managed to make him feel like he was playing the younger boy court, jocking to find favor in green eyes? And as much as he reminded himself not to he already knew he'd be acting the same way the next time Harry Potter talked to him. Huffing he turned away, all the more irritated because of the distinctly amused glance tacked onto his retreating back.

And still there was something about Harry Potter that called him back for more.

**S**

"Honestly, sometimes I wonder how immature boys can get." Hermione grumbled as she nearly slammed her books on the library table. Only the odd respect she gave her school books prevented her from tossing them with any ease.

Harry glanced at the empty table he had been occupying and raised an eyebrow at the girl. Unless she'd been cursed silly he was the wrong sort to have part of _any_ conversation the girl had in mind.

"Not you," she nearly snapped. "Finnegan and Weasley—the one in our year—are acting like…like complete gits! And Neville! I was only trying to help—there certainly wasn't any need to be rude to _me_."

Harry wondered if she'd consider him rude if he told her to shove off. He'd been reading.

"Those gits don't have to be so cruel to Neville—it just takes him a bit longer to figure the material out. I-I tried, I tried to stop them and Neville…Neville just gets this awful look on his face and tells me to mind my own business. Honestly!"

It was a wonder such a know-it-all could be so utterly blind.

"I don't want to think about it anymore…So what are you reading?"

Not something he was keen on sharing with anyone. He had a feeling she'd disapprove. The creation of golems wasn't something likely to sit easy with anyone.

"Longbottom is fat."

"That's uncalled—!"

"I'm making a point. Longbottom is fat, he's nearly always the last one to figure things out, has horrible confidence, for all purposes a magically-weak pureblood, and the least obvious 'Gryffindor' in the lot. Thanks to you he now has a girlfriend to defend him. He's an eleven-year old boy; what did you expect?"

Hermione gapped at him for a second before blushing hotly. "I was only trying to help…"

Harry gave the girl one last look before pulling out his Potions text.

"Oh, no you don't! You didn't come to dinner last night and you certainly aren't going to make it a habit. Pack your books, dinner's about to begin."

"…what?" If he'd been anyone else Harry would no doubt be gapping.

Still flushed, she continued. "It's time for dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"That's no excuse to keep skipping meals! Now, you either come with me or I stay with you but I swear it's going to become awfully annoying, awfully quick."

He could help but stare at the girl as she closed his books, shuffling them till they made a neat pile. Pulling them back to him he stuffed them in his book bag before she could see any titles. "Fine."

Hermione beamed.

By the time Harry was sitting in the Ravenclaw table he remembered why he'd avoided dinner to begin with.

Slytherin table was looking at him oddly. More specifically, Lestrange and some equally annoying fools. And it was only the third day since semester began. Harry had a feeling things would only get more difficult from then on. And Flint was signaling him.

"Something the matter?"

Thoughtful eyes turned to the speaker, acknowledged Padma's concern with a blink. "Nothing."

Padma huffed, "Then stop looking so…so…"

"Like you're figuring out a way to blow up the Great Hall to see if the House Elves really do have hidden passages down there." Goldstein accused from besides her.

Padma paused and considered. "That sums it up nicely."

Harry figured it best to ignore them, settling into a vaguely amicable state.

**S**

"Potter! A word." Flint neatly commanded, signaling the younger boy to break away from the slowly moving masses that were dispersing into the various Houses.

Years of having to slip into the background for one reason or another allowed him to maneuver to the edge of a particularly large mesh of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

As he trailed the older boy Harry's hand neatly skimmed his wand-holster, taking a comfort he didn't quite understand in the phoenix-wand. Flint was a generally interesting fellow and someone Harry didn't at all mind listening to but that didn't mean he was about to follow the boy willy-nilly. If worse came to worse Flint would be the first person to learn of Harry's more _unusual_ talents.

"In here."

Harry spied the unused classroom Flint had opened, eying it warily from the doorway. Even as he walked in his mind shifted, crystallizing instincts that were about the only thing Harry had ever fully trusted.

Silently the younger boy waited as Flint paced agitatedly for a moment before taking a seat on one of the many desks pushed against a wall.

"Right now Hogwarts is trying to get a court order to ban the Daily Prophet from printing the documented effects of a Killing Curse on the survivors."

Harry didn't blink for a moment, thoughts spiraling as names and facts shifted.

_Malfoy…magic…handicaps…Healer...Pomfrey? The other one...Purebloods…war…bigotry…DANGER!_

Magic rumpled inside of Harry, echoed eerily by the day's fierce winds, so strong had they grown.

"And?"

Flint exhaled harshly. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out who survived a killing curse! You're…what's wrong with you?"

The younger boy's face changed, though how Flint could tell even he didn't know. Green eyes remained remote, none of his features betraying any agitation or anger never mind fear.

"You already seem to know a great deal…Haven't you an idea?"

"No one is exactly eager to tell a schoolboy, you know. But it's nearly impossible to keep this kind of gossip quiet. Hogwarts will likely get their court ban by dawn but it doesn't mean those with money in the right places haven't figured out at least that some Healer study was performed on you and there's something wrong with you.

"I've told you time and time again, there are people here who won't hesitate to curse you in the back if they think there's so much of a change they'll get away with it."

"You're awfully concerned with my situation…" Harry mused dryly, still impassively amicable and just as bland.

For the first time Flint's face betrayed his anger, "You idiot! Don't you see….Gods! Why must everyone be so stubborn? You've so much potential—Merlin knows, you've probably more than me! And it doesn't mean shit if you don't even survive to be _old _enough to do anything with it!"

And Harry blinked, stunned at the completely unexpected turn. In the back of his mind he'd prepared himself to _hurt _Flint if he should turn against him but…he hadn't quite foreseen this…_concern_.

"You're—You're _worried_ about me?!"

Flint twitched violently, whether at Harry's incredulity or at his own emotional outburst it was hard to say.

But Harry could only say one thing, "Why?"

"Merlin give me patience." The boy muttered irritably. "I thought you of all people should have realized—gods!—You're so set on only seeing the future you've turned away from the past…you idiot!..._Our _parents and their generation wasted their lives fighting a war of principles, running from their neighbors and shitting money to make everyone look the other way. Our whole society has been hoping on one foot while ducking the gallows as it _wallowed. _Well you know what? I won't let my future sing the same tune! I won't let the Circle fall into another sycophantic bundle of useless fools. We've so much talent! All of us have so much! And you—gods—whatever deficiency doesn't change the fact that practically all the first-years will jump if you so much as find the sky interesting. We don't have to be trapped in the same feuds that have taken everything that we should be. So this isn't the time to play games with me! I want to know what's going on."

Needless to say Harry gaped as Flint lost his top, as some would say.

And Harry looking at the flushed Flint (who'd never found many reasons to lose his composure) found the wish to say something, something that sounded suspiciously like the truth.

Harry talked, and hoped both for his sake and Flint's that it wouldn't end badly. Because Harry, despite his age and inexperience, knew that he would make the older boy pay if things did go sour.

"You understand the principle of magical wavelengths? How every type of magic exists on a specific spectrum and how wizards are naturally in tune, able to manipulate those energies? In theory Muggles are connected to some of those wavelengths—however faintly—and it's because of that that wizards are able to cast magic on them. The Healer study done on me suspects that the Killing Curse acts by severing those connections, among them being such delicate things as 'soul'. It wouldn't take more than a jar in any which way for most everyone to die from the shock. Well the Killing Curse did a number on me—though they still don't know how I survived. It severed some of the connections I should possess. Most magical manipulations that fall under Charms and Defense are beyond me."

Flint's face was open with its calculation, smart enough to know that it wasn't just that. "But what does it mean?"

Harry shrugged, eyes glinting with a strange intensity. "It means I can't curse you or shield myself...but I am not as weak as some would think…"

Quietly unclasping his wand he raised in the older boy's direction, no need to reveal the fact of just how irrelevant the instrument truly was. With a jerk of his wrist, the desk Flint was sitting on erupted in a flurry of twisting wood, gnarled hands of splinters poised and frozen just millimeters away from two unguarded wrists, their sharpness fine enough to sever some very important veins. To his credit, Flint reigned in his shock enough to stifle any impulse that would have turned the situation bloodier than it needed to be.

"Ah…I s-see." Flint finally coughed as the wood retreated seamlessly into the desk.

"I'm still more magically powerful than your average first-year, certainly talented enough, and still connected to some if not all of the magical channels, however faint the connection may be."

Unsurprisingly Flint decided to stand up after that. Quietly the older boy mused over the new information. "And potentially more powerful than you should have been…I think…it's the difference between hitting someone with a large surface like a mallet or a pinprick like…that thing you just did now. The mallet will leave a big bruise and maybe break a bone if you do it right but the pinprick will stab you and kill you if you aim right."

Harry grimaced at the bloody analogy but nodded his agreement.

"So I'm right?" Flint looked both triumphed and unsettled by the fact. "That's what you did to Lestrange that day, isn't it? You could have hurt more than his pride had you wanted to…"

"You'll keep quiet about this?" Harry asked but Flint, seeing the first-year, knew it was decidedly in his benefit to do as the boy wished.

"Sure." Flint finally shrugged. "No one will learn any of this from me, if that is what you want. Still, you should be aware there are some who'll think you have a weakness now. They'll come to exploit it as soon as they feel confident."

Harry nodded once again, letting the matter settle as being inconsequential. "And I'm not a very…_nice_ person when I have a reason to mind."

"You've a hell of a venom in your bite, Aspling." Flint laughed, ruffling the younger boy's hair as he left, laughing some more as the Ravenclaw twitched at the contact. "Night, Aspling."

**S**

Flint remained amused whenever he saw the younger boy; something Harry was apt to roll his eyes at. Still, neither made any effort to stop the gossip running among their peers. So both boys watched whose faces betrayed their calculation, their sympathy, their fear, or even their maliciousness.

Both boys also had very good memories.

Still it was annoying to be under even more attention, however subtle some his older peers thought they were being. And while the general population remained oblivious there were plenty of individuals with new reason to watch him.

So it should be unsurprising that Harry took up late-night wandering, made infinitely easier by the Cloak he made himself put on. And it was because of this that he eventually came to a certain room whose very air sang a very odd magic. And he saw a Mirror, innocently placed and all the more troublesome for it.

He let his curiosity win and stared at the Mirror, willingly jumpy nerves to look at his reflection calmly, instincts flaring at how unsettling the situation truly was.

His face stared back at him, neatly combed hair drifting into eyes and obscuring a rather infamous scar. A slender face, impassive green eyes, and an awkwardly thin body that could only belong to a still growing child.

Unease bit at his throat, a disquieting feeling that could not be explained rationally. But really, an empty room save an ornate mirror was reason enough to ruffle him. It was a magical castle after all. The mirror itself seemed to beckon him forward and for that reason alone Harry wanted to order disobedient feet to turn away.

It was foolishness to look. He knew it; knew it the second two ghostlike hands settled on his mirror-twin. They were the oldest incarnation of their images he'd seen to date; faces fully filled out and eyes wiser with life. They were the could-be's of a reality that hadn't involved their deaths, a man and woman who'd lived to become more than children playing at games they couldn't have fully understood.

"Mum."

Green eyes smiled at him; a proud mother, serious and quiet with a decidedly fierce streak in her.

"D-Dad."

Speckled brown eyes, a crookedly mischievous smile that had never gone away.

Harry stared at them. Met identical green eyes as her face leaned down, a faint kiss planted where his scar should be. Soundless lips moved,

"_Harry…_"

It wasn't fair.

…a faint wind scattered dust mites.

Lily never really became a woman. How could a twenty-two year old young woman know what life was about?

…frost spread like a delicate spider web over age-colored stone walls.

James wasn't a father. Not to the child who supposedly took after him and not to the boy who didn't understand magic like his son should have.

…faint breaths drifted in a sudden chill.

They weren't a family. No mummy, no daddy; just a bigoted uncle and his dreadfully blind family. Scared adults who didn't understand magic left with an infant they should never had been given.

…stone groaned as vicious ice crystals formed on every available crevice. Groaning…they expanded.

Years and years when a boy was less than real. Days when eyes would skip over him and he'd have the horrible doubt he didn't exist; hadn't survived the so-called crash that had taken his parents. Just another ghost playing in a Dursley induced misery.

…His mum's face continued to smile even as frost covered the mirror surface. Face distorted beneath the thin veneer of ice.

He didn't want to see anymore. He'd learned all he needed to. They had fought against a dark wizard and they had died. They were his parents and they had left him with a useless crown, empty praise for a deed that didn't mean anything to him.

"You're dead." Harry forced out through numb lips. "You died and you haven't any right to do this to me."

…in the hallway torches flared once before dying, a bitter wind snuffing the corridor.

"You don't get to do this." Sharp nails bit into his palm, warm-blood-scalding-freezing-flash. "You're GONE!"

The Mirror screeched, fine cracks radiating across their faces.

It was only a second of stunned surprise.

"_Harry…"_ The Mirror-Mother warned, green eyes wary as they stared into him. _"Run…"_

Harry stepped back and only stopped when his back was poked by the doorknob. Instinct warned him things had taken a dangerous turn. Something had changed. Something was wrong. He wasn't a hero. And he most certainly wasn't going to stick around and find out.

Harry ran.

The Mirror shattered.

From the corner of his eye he could see arcs of blinding magical energy sear the walls, shattered stone stinging every exposed surface. The air smelt of ozone and the biting lights only grew. There was blood on his cheek where propelled debris had cut him. All around him the stone trembled. He flinched as the corridor's high glass windows shattered, sparkling glass raining down with cruel intention.

He ran.

"Behind me! Boy, hide behind me!" A well-dressed portrait roared at him.

Harry didn't think about it. The magic was building and Harry didn't know if he could outrun it. He saw the fleeing image of a pale-faced wizard before a trick cupboard was slammed open. Even as he leapt into it, burning thin tendrils of wild magic seared his back, slamming him into the opposing wall. A second later the cupboard door banged shut.

In the darkness Harry shook alongside the castle. The scent of ozone and coppery blood settled around him, suffocating in its intensity.

Outside wild magic crackled with abandon. The portrait of Sir Graham du Jouge had only a second to seal the passage behind him before he was completely obliterated. Elsewhere startled Prefects and Professors steadied themselves as the ground trembled. A few were near enough windows to see the cloudy sky flare as wild magic dissipated. Hogwarts' wards trembled, torches and fireplaces flickering with surges of magic.

And like that it was over. The wards settled, most students having never realized there was cause for alarm to begin with.

**S**

"…this corridor, Minerva."

"The Mirror…?"

"…You mean to say a Mirror is responsible for all this infernal mess?" A sharper voice snapped.

"Mirrors' broken have a way of bringing about terrible luck."

Coughing echoed along the eerily silent corridor. It was surprising how much noise actually permeated Hogwarts when one took into account restless suits of armor, chattering portraits, and wandering ghosts.

"Whoever did this no doubt met a world of bad luck. There isn't even a portrait left in this area."

"…Look at this—broken glass…it's been melded together."

"Exactly what type of Mirror has the power to shake Hogwarts' wards?" Someone bit out.

"…the Mirror of Erised…"

"…!"

"Dear Merlin, the enchantments on that thing alone…"

"…Do you…do you think a student could have been caught in this?"

A sigh.

"…The Prefects are making the headcount even now….we won't know till then."

Several footsteps echoed along the barren hallway.

"…Could this have been an attempt on the Stone? The Mirror was supposed to be used as part of the enchantments guarding it."

"Nothing can be ruled out at this stage…"

"…Is it…?"

"Can you see?"

"Shattered. Not so much as a splinter left."

"Look at the wall…Solid ward-stone smashed to pieces."

"…Yes…the wards lay most heavily on the outer walls. Unfortunately the inner walls haven't the same protection."

"We were lucky the damn blast didn't do more damage than this."

"…You call this luck?"

"No." A heavy pause. "I'd call it blessed luck if a student wasn't caught in this disaster but knowing fate it seems most likely an idiotic Gryffindor would have chosen this night to disregard the rules."

"There's no need for such morose thoughts, Severus."

"…They're entirely realistic."

"…Blood…"

"Blood alright, wizard's blood."

"…surprising anything could have survived the blast."

"The power of blood should never be dismissed lightly. Even shed unknowingly it was the potential to be dangerous."

"Combined with the magic unleashed this night…"

"…a student…"

"We'll need Poppy at her sharpest. Merlin help us if the boy doesn't survive."

"…infernal Potter curiosity…"

Soot-covered and unconscious, Harry Potter was found in a pool of his own blood and far too pale for anyone's peace of mind.

**S**

"For Heaven's sake, there isn't anything else I can do. The child needs to go to St. Mungo." A woman with deft hands finally snapped.

Her audience, an older gentleman, peered at her from around half-moon spectacles. "You know as well as I do Poppy, the boy is far too vulnerable as he is to be placed in the care of unknown wizards."

Both adults glanced at the unconscious boy as he whimpered, a restless shift no doubt igniting the network of vicious marks alongside his back. Poppy padded the boy's fine hair before glaring at the Headmaster.

"Take a good look at these marks Albus for they will scar the child if you continue to refuse him the help of professionals."

Albus sighed tiredly. "My dear, you are one of the best Medi-witches in Britain; you've trained a good portion of the Healers in St. Mungo as it is. What help can they offer that you cannot?"

Poppy gritted her teeth in frustration. "You are a powerful wizard, Albus, but you are a useless Healer! My qualifications are well and good but _I_ don't specialize in this type of damage."

"Scars that can be easily hidden are acceptable if it means the boy remains safe. Why I myself have—"

"—Are you even listening to me, you infernal man? The Mirror of Erised—Merlin knows what it was doing here to begin with—is a powerful thing; it was powerful the day it was made hundreds of years ago and it was powerful the day it tore the Third Floor's East Corridor to shreds. The wild magic marked the boy—burned him, cut him…I haven't a clue. The longer we wait the less likely the damage will be reversible."

"And I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. Healer Aaron Redhall, Healer Reah Kimble, Healer Tirris Fern—all suspected Death Eaters at the end of the war. They all suffered when the Dark Lord fell and they would all have ready access to a defenseless Harry Potter."

"Ask yourself this, who are you really worried about? The Boy-Who-Lived or young Harry?"

"It is not so simple, Poppy."

"Only because you refuse to make it so. Now, you will allow me to owl another Healer or Heaven help me I'll douse you with so much sleeping potions you'll be lucky if you wake to see the end of term!"

Albus paused, his silence heavy as he weighed the situation. "Very well, Poppy, but I trust you remember the risks involved."

"With my life, Albus. I remember the Oaths I have made."

Albus tilted his head graciously as he conceded the matter.

"…now…get out of my infirmary! There's work to be done."

Harry's thin thread with consciousness snapped. It wouldn't be neither the first time nor the last he'd grasp at that little vestige of awareness.

"…Healer Pomfrey, you weren't joking…"

"Heaven's not…"

"…Mer-rlin, w-what _did_ this?"

"I can't release the complete story but it was wild magic, very old and very explosive."

"….Merlin."

Darkness once more invaded.

A young high pitched voice whispered. "L-look a-at the messss y-you made. Got me and Li worried out of our m-mind, y-you st-stupid b-boy. W-Wake up soon." The girl sniffed.

Harry drifted. Hazy images, reality blended in with dreams seamlessly.

_"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"_

"_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —_

Harry screamed.

"…hold him!"

"The other bottle!"

"…What's wrong?"

"You can't expect for someone in Mr. Potter's condition to react all that well to all that wild magic in his system." A by now familiar voice snapped.

"…Why did he scream?"

A soft hand smoothed out ruffled black locks. "…We can barely predict what happened to him physically…Mentally, we're very much in the dark till he wakes."

"_I tell you Petunia, that nephew of yours isn't normal. Now, forgive me for being crude but some babes should have been snuffed in the cradle. Lord knows you've done your best but bad blood will show."_

Mother stood before a madman. In his hospital bed Harry curled up, stretching the tender skin on his still healing back. Steady hands descended on his sleeping form, guiding him back on his stomach.

_"Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…"_

Such horrible laughter.

It was alright, Harry thought to nightmares that were worse because they were memories. She didn't have to sound so terrified. There wasn't any mercy given that night but Harry survived. He lived.

That was when Harry heard the most horrible sound of all. The dull thud made as his mother's body fell uselessly. Such terrible laughter.

"…_have mercy_…"

"…have mercy."

"Madam Pomfrey? I think he's waking!"

"Hold his head…eyes unfocused—on his side! He's going into seizure!"

"...Steady! Everyone—out! Albus, so help me Merlin go run the school and leave me be!"

"Easy, child…" A voice murmured softly, hands smoothing pained lines.

**S**

"H-Hi." Padma had never looked so pale. Nervously she shuffled forward before sitting tentatively on a nearby chair. Smiling weakly she said, "Brought your homework."

One too thin hand rubbed the bridge of his nose, his head tilted to stare at the ceiling. "I never figured you'd be one to be easily scared."

Padma flushed indignantly. "Well excuse me! Let's see you spend a mo-month waiting for your friend to w-wake up!"

Irritably she smoothed her already pristine robe, letting an uncomfortable silence settle between them.

"…Will you tell me the truth?"

"W-What?...of course."

"You promise?"

Confused but serious Padma nodded. "I swear it."

Harry finally titled his head to look at her, hands digging into the mattress to pull himself to a sitting position. "Conjure two mirrors."

Padma's wand halted mid-motion, "We haven't learned to conjure."

"Transfigure it then."

She rolled her eyes, transfiguring an empty bottle and forgotten glass into two simple mirrors, a little more foggy but easily an achievement for someone her age.

"Give me your wand for a second." Harry held his hand out. He tapped the two mirror, frowning in concentration as the mirror smoothed out, its simple frame straightening and its reflection clearing.

"Help me take my shirt off."

"Wha—!"

"Shush!" Harry chided, pausing to hear the tell-tale click of the nurse's heels. "I've hardly had a second to myself. If it isn't Madam Pomfrey its someone else clucking about."

"Sorry. Mind repeating the question? I don't think I heard you right."

Harry sighed. "My back was…hurt. They won't let me look at it and I can't turn to see it myself. They didn't even want to tell me how long I've been out."

Padma glanced nervously at the closed door leading to Madam Pomfrey's office. "Sure we should be doing this?"

Harry threw the closed door a frustrated glare. "They've had their chance to tell me what's wrong. I don't know what they're waiting for, s'not like its going to change anything."

She didn't say anything else as she helped pull off his shirt.

"Stand behind me and hold the mirror up so I can catch the reflection."

Once Padma moved into position the startled cry did nothing to reassure him. "Oh…oh, Harry…"

And then Harry saw what had made her cry out. He didn't blame her. It was a network of fine iridescent blue lines, curling and twinning around each other. They gleamed like new scar tissue in the faint light and though no wider than a centimeter in any one place they covered his whole back before disappearing into his hairline and down his pajama bottoms. Even as fine as the marks were they still covered a little less than half of the surface of his back.

Harry sighed again, content to let Padma gently pull the mirror from lax hands and pull his shirt back over his head.

"You all right?"

Shrugging Harry gingerly settled back on his side. "They're still healing."

Padma awkwardly padded his hand before clutching it in her own.

"What are they saying?"

"…There were rumors in the beginning, everything from you being attacked by hired assassins to a Dark ritual gone wrong. Most just think you were practicing some advanced magic in the wrong room. Hogwarts_ is_ famous for housing loads of magical items. They were also saying it had something to do with whatever was being kept on the Third Floor but the area's been completely blocked. What's his name, your roommate…Grant and his friend were caught trying to sneak up there. Everyone knows the Weasley twins made a go at it too but no one knows how they snuck away. You've been unconscious for so long…they said you were dying. But at least that was a step up from the beginning when they said you were dead, back when no one was allowed to see you."

"And you very nearly where, Mr. Potter. I see you've taken it upon yourself to visit your friend Ms. Patil."

Padma blushed but didn't move from her spot. "Sorry, ma'am, but I had to see him for myself."

"Understandable, however I must ask you to leave my dear. Dinner's about to begin and Mr. Potter isn't as well as he's pretenting."

"I'll see you later Harry."

Harry sighed passively as he allowed Madam Pomfrey to fuss over him for a second before much to his surprise, she settled on Padma's empty chair.

"I'm afraid Mr. Potter that we will be enjoying each other's company for at least another week. You've slept for a long time and the magic running through your system taxed your body. You'll need to build up a bit more of your strength and body mass before I let you leave."

Harry hadn't really expected otherwise.

"Now, child, I ask that you pay close attention to what I say. I am a Healer _first_ and foremost, bound by the Magical Oaths made at the time of my induction. Those Oaths are always with me, binding me to my patients. But those Oaths must also be reciprocated…acknowledged by those under my care for them to work as they must."

He let his head fall back with a thud, giving a sideway glance to his bedside reading material, _A Healer's Guide_. He'd skimmed through it but hadn't understood what the Nurse had been trying to say. Why she'd avoided telling him anything about his condition. For whatever reason, she couldn't.

"I feel like an idiot."

Madam Pomfrey gave the boy a sympathetic smile. "You would have no doubt figured out what you wanted by yourself sooner or later. Children…"She mused with a fond smile.

"Then Healer Pomfrey, under your sworn Oath, what can tell me about my condition?"

"Oath sworn, I answer. With the destruction of the enchanted item—one Mirror of Erised—a large magical discharge was released. The wild magic struck your back and acted as an infection on your system…Imagine the wild magic as a sort of virus that enters your body. It will try and assimilate itself into you but because it doesn't belong there to begin with your body naturally tries to fight it. The infection isn't in any spell-structure so we can't reverse it, we had to wait for you to fight it off on your own. However the longer you fight the more likely it becomes that you'll lose—and child, a month was asking entirely too much of your body. So the only way we could help you was bleeding you magically. The original entry wounds were the most heavily saturated areas so we had to keep them open. We bleed as much magic as we could but circumstances prevented us from having a specialized Healer on hand—without someone trained we risk bleeding your own defenses instead of the wild magic. We tried to keep scarring to a minimum but unfortunately a discoloration of your skin's pigmentation occurred."

So far, not bad. Admittedly Harry would have been a whole lot more concerned if he hadn't already overcome it.

"And can I expect any side-effects?"

"No more than one would expect from cursed scars." Madam Pomfrey added, pointedly glancing at his forehead. "They'll heal a bit more but I wouldn't expect much else. The scars themselves shouldn't bother you but I do warn you they might be sensitive to certain types of magic…Suppose that all forms of magic have their own wavelength. Healing, Earth, Fire, Death—things of that sort. The Cursed Scar left on you by the Killing Curse has the potential to make you sensitive to death energies—something I should hope you haven't encountered yet at this stage in your education. In the same way the scars on your back has the potential to react to whatever specific type of magic discharged by the Mirror. The Mirror itself was composed of a wide gamut of magics—too many for me to justifiably expose you to."

Harry nodded pensively, "Thank you for telling me."

"It is nothing less than what I'm bound to as a Healer." She said once more before smoothing his hair and rising. Harry didn't protest her touch; he had a feeling he'd been subjected to it for a month as it was.

TBC….

**S**

**30 April 2007**

**A/N: I'm not dead! Anyway…sorry?**

**Thanks Krimzonrayne for my 1000****th**** review and everyone else, some of your reviews are really…wow. Scarily wow…**

**And I guess I should remind everyone that this is NOT a DeathEaterHarry! Or a new Dark Lord Harry. Just a powerfulHarry! that has different plans. As for the title "Child of Mercy" to those who don't understand yet, I'll explain it soon enough.**


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